Four Aces
by Aseptic
Summary: It's been more than a decade since the Cyborgs last worked together. Living their lives as best they can, the peaceful lifestyle has made them vulnerable. A sinister bounty hunt has begun, and four elite assassins are vying for the Cyborg kill.
1. Prologue

**Four Aces**

**Prologue**

**X X X**

At the end of an arduous day's work, the stairs to his fifth-floor apartment always felt infinitely longer than they actually were. It was tedious to haul himself up all those steps; but the _out of order_ sign on the elevator said it was necessary. Even in his tired state the male moved quietly, a habit learnt as a child and drilled into him during a soldier's career later in life. The same training ensured that whilst he moved he had a sharp brown eye on any possible direction for attack – he'd seen a lot of ugly in the years and did his best to avoid conflict.

When the sleek number of apartment _512_ appeared at the top of the stairs, he breathed a grateful sigh and fished for his keys. The hall that greeted him on the other side was only tiny, quickly feeding into an apartment that could only ever be suited to one person. Shutting the door behind him, the young man slid off his trench coat and undid the collar buttons of his uniform. A light toss sent his keys into the dish he kept near the door; they landed neatly with the 'chink' of metal on ceramic. Turning into the kitchenette, a lazy hand flicked the lightswitch to illuminate the dark room.

Quite suddenly, it wasn't so lazy anymore. The hand was rigid along with the rest of his body; he stood frozen in the doorway with wide eyes staring at the person _sitting at his table_.

It was a lithe male, his skin pale but mostly covered in a white uniform. Red cuffs and a red collar were decorated in a diamond pattern – it matched the tattoo he had under one eye.

"Hallo there," the intruder grinned, staying calmly at the table. "I've been waiting for you."

He knew in his bones he was looking at a Cyborg.

Across the apartment, the phone had begun to ring. It was ignored by both men as they stared at each other in silence – one smug, the other far from it. The automated answering service kicked in, the electronic record the only sound in the house.

_Hi, this is Joe. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message then I can call you back. Okay, thanks!_

It timed out with that annoying beep, giving way to a frantic, much more real voice. "_009! You're in danger! If you're home, you need to pick up the phone right now! We don't have much time left – they're going after all of us and they're starting with you!"_

The message echoed around an empty apartment. The door was left wide open as the two Cyborgs battled their way down the corridor outside.

The hunt had begun.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	2. Missing Pieces

**Four Aces**

**#1: Missing Pieces**

**X X X**

_**24 Hours Earlier.**_

In a room void of lighting, each stood as a component in a group of four. They were arranged in a line at a prescribed distance from each other, standing straight-backed and stiff-shouldered as highly trained soldiers were supposed to. Whether by coincidence or design, their uniforms were similar; a base white trimmed in black or red - one could be forgiven for thinking they worked as a team, following the same employer for the same communal outcome.

But they weren't a team. They were four elite bounty hunters, hand-picked to be turned into cyborgs for the express purpose of being on the payroll of Black Ghost. Their missions were built upon the failure - or, as rumour had it, the _rebellion_ - of other soldiers and they had the inbuilt technology to match. Their official names were in the range of 020 - 024, with five failed cyborg-conversions before them.

Black Ghost himself, however, had created a new set of names for them: the Assassins of Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts and Spades. Their techniques varied widely and it was by virtue of their creation that they did not get along - any ideas of friendliness or teamwork had been eliminated in order to prevent another "00 incident".

Thusfar, it had worked.

They performed at widely different rates. Diamonds was always first to locate the target, though he enjoyed toying with them before he took them as prisoner. Clubs had a fondness for traps, creating brilliant mechanisms that rarely failed. Hearts picked up where her two companions slacked, creating mincemeat out of escapees with her favourite toy – grenades.

None of them knew _what _to make of the fourth hunter, Spades. He had a perfect kill rate, whether or not the mission asked for it. Suffice to say, he wasn't terribly useful for 'alive' bounties. Spades kept his distance from them and only visited the headquarters when summoned directly. Even Diamonds had trouble finding him when he chose to hide.

"Assassins."

The single word caught their unanimous attention; four pairs of eyes looking to the hologram platform in front of them. The lights around the edge had begun to flicker, compiling the image of a two-storey-tall being, his body hidden under a cloak and his face masked by a black skull. The leer was a type to intimidate lesser people - for these four soldiers, it was nothing new.

"The task ahead of you is not one to be underestimated. The time has come for this organisation to eliminate a problem which has been put to the side for some time. You have nine targets."

Behind the hologram, a screen lit up. Nine images flicked into view, each image numbered and showing an incredibly diverse range of targets. Some of them looked deceptively easy - a short Chinese man, a skinny young fellow who looked like he was from Africa, a kid on the border of teenhood.

"Take them dead or alive, but they are all equally difficult targets. Now is the time to strike - they live in separate parts of the world and they do not have contact with each other. Do not allow them to. If they learn what is happening, they will reform and that is _unacceptable_. Any failure on your part will result in decommissioning. Do _not _fail me."

With this final instruction the projection unit shut off, leaving the room to be illuminated by the nine profiles of their targets. The four assassins were homogeneous in their silence, each watching the distant screens and thinking over the Black Ghost's words. They all knew what decommissioning meant – it wasn't so much a case of retirement as it was a case of being physically reduced to pieces of scrap metal. The prospect was a long way from pleasant, but in working for Black Ghost, it was always a distinct possibility.

One by one they turned away and exited the room. Apart from the occasional brief glance to another, none of them spoke – none of them needed or wanted to.

With the stakes this high, there was nothing to say.

**X X X**

_**Present Day.**_

Joe raced down the hall as swiftly as his body would allow without Acceleration, boots thumping against the carpet and offering little grip as he took a sharp turn and ducked into a more secluded stairwell. He knew the enemy Cyborg was right on his heels, knew that he had to get out of there as soon as possible to find the others.

He yanked the fire-exit door shut behind him and kept running down the stairs. He only had a minute to spare.

**X X X**

Diamonds didn't actually stand from the table until the kid was reaching for the door.

He was still limbering up when Joe vanished out of the apartment and took off down the hall.

It struck him as odd that there wasn't going to be a fight, but Diamonds didn't question it. He dug a heel into the tile for grip, checked his balance, crouched – and took off like a bullet. He was almost a blur as he bounded out of the little apartment, moving far faster than his prey. It was achieved without the aid of an acceleration mechanism – Diamonds loved to boast that he didn't need it to get his job done.

Following the noise of the stairwell opening, he swung around the corner only moments behind. A hand went for the door, pulled it open – and Diamonds found himself coming to an abrupt, _angry_ halt.

"_Spades_," he spat, trying in vain to look past the man for any sign of the target. "You're in my _way_. Move!"

The black and white figure didn't seem keen to oblige, smirking just a little. "I don't think so, Diamonds. That one's mine."

"You couldn't handle 009 if he only had one leg!" Diamonds answered, closing the distance between them with a snarl. "Go pick something easier, or I'll pick it for you."

"I like this one."

The red assassin's world turned into a blur for a moment, a black fist connecting solidly with the side of his face. Diamonds answered with a snarl and tried to return it – only to find he was hitting empty air in the wake of a distinct _'click'_.

Spades was gone.

**X X X**

It was in a quiet part of the world that a man walked, his hands sunk deep into the pockets of his trenchcoat. He was not the type of person that you saw in this country normally – in a sea of black hair, tanned skin and delicate facial features, white skin, a mane of red hair and a nose to match made him quite distinctive. In populated areas he could be easily dismissed as a tourist, but in these placid backstreets the stares were plentiful – and by now, somewhat wearisome.

Jet kept one foot in front of the other and did his best to not draw attention; to look as though he belonged. His steps brought him to an intersection and directly across was the apartment building he sought.

"Huh. So this is where he's been hiding out?" he asked, despite being completely alone on the street.

_That's right, 002. Like the rest of us, 009 wanted a normal life. _

Jet knew that the voice in his head was no figment of his imagination. It belonged to a child prodigy, the only cyborg who hadn't been subject to a kind of age-freeze. Whilst the rest of the former team became immortal, 001 grew first into a toddler, now a child. He remained wise beyond his years and was still prone to long bouts of sleeping – something that Jet doubted would ever change.

"Well, it sure does look normal," Jet remarked with a click of his tongue. He crossed the intersection quickly, moving into the building. Following Ivan's instructions, the cyborg tracked his way up the stairs, ignoring the out-of-order sign that hung lopsidedly on the elevator doors.

When he came to the numbered door, Jet felt his stomach clench. It was ajar, a few papers littering the hall as they blew out of the apartment.

They'd tried to warn him and they'd been too late.

The blinking '_1 Unread' _on the answering machine only confirmed this. He hit the button anyway, and listened to his own voice yelling at Joe to get out of there. "Damnit," Jet muttered, turning in a circle to look at the apartment. It was small, and obviously only 009 had lived here – a bit like he did in New York. There were no signs of fight in here, which meant the fight had ended up outside. Where? The stairwell?

_Have you found anything 002?_

"Not much," Jet answered, "They didn't fight in here, nothing's wrecked. 009 might not have even got in the doorway, if the assassin was waiting for him."

_Do we know which Assassin it was?_

Jet shrugged as he turned to the door, ready to take a second look at that stairwell. "Haven't found anything to say..." he trailed off, pausing just shy of the door. A little table had caught his attention. Obviously a kind of dumping ground, it held bits of mail, a notebook, a few spare buttons – and _under_ the apartment keys... an Ace of Spades.

_002?_

"... I found an Ace."

_Who was it?_

"Spades. Spades got him, that bastard." Of all the assassins, Joe had landed the one that didn't deal in live bounties. They'd never been close and Jet hadn't seen him in years, but... a comrade was a comrade. Spades was going _down_.

There was a pause from 001 before he spoke – when he did, Jet had to admire the kid's composure. He could feel the sorrow, but it was held back. There was more at stake than the loss of just one. _He must be right behind Diamonds – maybe even in front of him. Come back to the hotel, 002. We need to find the others. _

"Yeah," Jet murmured in agreement, picking up his feet again. "Just gotta' hope that I don't get taken down too."

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	3. Around the World

**Four Aces**

**#2: Around the World**

**X X X**

Ten storeys above the busy streets of Koto, an eleven-year-old boy watched the world through the glass of his hotel window. The reflection showed him his own light-blue hair and the grey eyes that always held an awareness of the world beyond his years. At the moment they were studying the streets below for any sign of danger, steely in his worried silence.

Ivan knew that he and 002 would have to work twice as fast as they had if they were going to keep Spades from getting to any more of the team. Spades was the only one who didn't take live bounties – even if the other assassins succeeded where that man failed, at least he could still rescue his friends. He could do many things, but he couldn't save someone from murder.

Lost in thought as he was, it didn't escape Ivan's attention that someone was approaching the room. Armed with the knowledge that it wasn't 002, he turned away from the window and to the door in anticipation. He watched as the door was tested, then cautiously opened.

The first sight of a black and white sleeve had Ivan tense, eyes narrow as Spades allowed himself in to the room. When the assassin became aware of the child watching him he stilled – something that Ivan noted with distracted interest. Spades _wasn't_ pushing an advantage – time, surprise, none of those things that an unexpected entrance could afford. It didn't fit with the data they'd collected about the man.

The pair of them stood in their stalemate for some time, until Ivan chose to break the silence. "You work for Black Ghost, don't you."

"Yes – and no," Spades replied. The self-assurance of his tone was the type to make someone like 002 flip his lid. Ivan was pretty sure that was the point.

He was also pretty sure that he wouldn't get any more detail than that. "Why am I the next target?" he asked next. Maybe if he could stall them for long enough, 002 would make it back to the room in time to help.

In a decisive motion Spades shut the hotel door and stepped further into the room. His confidence didn't stray an ounce as he answered, "Because _you're_ the most important."

**X X X**

On the other side of the world, the streets of London's West End were dusted in the first snow of the season, lit by the efforts of lights that shone from businesses, cars, and glossy theatres. It really hadn't changed much, not since he'd first seen the streetscape as a little boy. The sight was one that inspired him to become an actor – a lifetime later, it still encouraged him.

Amidst the smiles and waves (and winces at his terrible joke) 007, aka GB, said goodnight to his co-stars and stepped out into the winter night. Wrapped up warmly in his favourite coat and a scarf that Francois had knitted five Christmasses ago, GB had no hope of wiping the smile off of his face. It had been a good night – tickets were almost sold out and they'd had an extra curtain-call. The performance group was earning star reviews from all the right people... these were things that either created, or destroyed, a career. For the young hopefuls he worked with, GB always hoped it would be the former, not the latter.

Coming to a stop at a taxi stand, the man hummed to himself as he waited patiently for the queue to move. Luck was with him and the line did shuffle forwards pretty steadily – it seemed that no-one was particularly keen on staying out in the cold if they could help it.

When it came his turn, GB nodded to himself in satisfaction and climbed in as ungracefully as always. Embracing the warm interior, he leant forward to pass instructions to the driver – only to have the door open a second time. He turned to protest – didn't they know this cab was taken? - and to promptly forget about doing so.

She was _pretty_.

"Oh, excuse me!" the woman blushed, pulling the door shut behind her. A red mane of hair cascaded over one shoulder, hiding part of a lithe body that was encased in a white mini-dress. Little red hearts decorated the hems in a contrast to the white hearts on her red knee-high boots.

The cab lurched into motion, leaving the stand behind as it merged with traffic. GB, still in a state of awe, merely scooted a bit further to one side to allow her room. Maybe she'd come from a Christmas performance. Ah, what did it matter? She was _really_ pretty. "Oh – it's quite alright, miss – I'm heading an awfully long way though, so maybe -"

"I'm sure it will be fine," she answered with a charming smile. Shuffling along the seat, she leaned up against him and touched his cheek with a finely manicured hand. "You're so handsome, I don't mind riding in a cab with you."

"Well gee – I uh -" Oh dear – he'd lost his tongue. Of all the times...

"What's your name?"

Ah! He could manage to answer that one. "GB, my lady."

"GB?" she repeated, and her smile turned a bit more coy. "Why, I've been looking for you."

Maybe she was a fan! Oh, he liked that idea. "Really now?" GB asked, trying for a smile of his own. He didn't know how lopsided it came out – nor how ridiculous it looked. "Why would that be?"

The woman didn't answer verbally, instead sliding something cold and metallic into his hand. As he looked down to it – and realised in horror that it was a _grenade –_ she leant up to his ear and whispered silkily, "I've heard great things about Cyborg 007. Won't you come with me now?"

**X X X**

In the space somewhere between the troubled worlds of his old comrades, a cyborg stepped out the front door of his rustic little country cottage. At his height one had to wonder how he even fitted through the doors or moved about the inside. But Geronimo managed, because it was what Geronimo had wanted. He'd tried to live in a city, but found his heart yearned for the wilderness. He'd moved on to a weekend job as a Park Ranger, then upgraded to full time – neither had worked. It wasn't until he had moved out to this little home that he had felt genuinely at peace.

He still worked as a Ranger, but not today – today was a Hiking Day, which Geronimo knew he would enjoy very much.

So out of the house he went and down the crooked, dirt driveway in his jeep. It was a solid twenty minutes drive to where he wanted to hike that day, but the cyborg didn't mind at all. The scenery made up for it splendidly. When the jeep crested the last ridge in the drive, he could see miles of wild range stretched out below, serene and picturesque. Just shy of the horizon, a lake gleamed in the early morning sun.

_Truly, out here man is but one step from Nature herself_.

With this thought Geronimo continued on, the sun to one side of him as he drove down the other side of the ridge. Once on flatter ground he parked on the side of the road and clambered out. He knew that the terrain in the small forest ahead was rough – no car would ever make it through there and so, he would continue on foot. It always felt nicer to hike on his own, anyway.

With a walking stick in one hand and a packed lunch slung over one shoulder, the man dutifully set off towards the trees.

Geronimo hadn't gone very far when certain details began to claim his attention. A broken twig here, and a dent in the ground there – someone else had been through here... recently. How odd, he hadn't seen any other cars, nor any other sign that there were others nearby.

Perhaps he would meet them shortly.

Anticipating company, the man continued on his path. Within five minutes he'd stopped again, this time peering at something most unusual. The ground... it was a different colour, just ahead of him... the leaf litter made it hard to tell just how far the change went for, but Geronimo was certain that this wasn't right.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was looking at a pit.

But why would someone build a trap?

Deciding that it would be in his best interest to circumvent the pit as best he could, the Cyborg carefully picked his way around the edge – and in doing so, missed the _second_ trap laid for him.

The exact events didn't hit him until after the fact, but three-quarters of the way around, his foot knocked something. With a whoosh Geronimo was yanked off his feet.

Now here he was, hanging up-side-down by one ankle in mid-air. Having dropped his stick and his bag, his brute strength was useless in this situation. With nothing in reach, and lacking the ability to reach up to his foot, all he could do was hang there until the hunter came back... which hopefully, would be soon.

It wasn't long before the offender in question stood across from him, arms folded and looking ridiculously smug. The black and white uniform looked almost absurdly out of place in the forest – but Geronimo could recognise the cyborg physique underneath it.

Wisely the offender kept his distance, even as he said rather smugly, "Gotcha, 005."

**X X X**

Jet took every shortcut he knew in order to get back to the hotel as fast as possible. It killed him that he couldn't just take to the air and fly straight there – but Ivan had made an excellent point earlier. If he flew, Black Ghost would know they were here. That jeopardised _everything_. They'd already lost one soldier and that made it imperative to stay under the radar if they wanted to save any of the others.

When the modest building came into sight, Jet couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so comforted. He almost ran through the lobby, heading straight for the stairwell. The elevators worked fine here, but they were on the first floor – the stairs would be faster.

The key to their room was in his hand by the time he reached the right door, though a short lived tussle was required before he could persuade the lock to give way.

Jet had long ago decided that him and new technology just didn't mesh well.

When it gave way Jet wasted no time, shoving the key back into his pocket and entering the room.

An _empty_ room.

Struck by a wave of caution, the redhead moved in deeper. "Kid?" he called out carefully. "Where'd ya' go?" he tried a tentative knock on the bathroom door, just in case he was in there or something.

Or something.

To hell with that, Ivan wasn't _here_. Shit, not again.

"Kid?" Jet made a point of checking the beds – and the space between them – in case he'd fallen asleep unexpectedly. It _had_ happened in the past.

Nothing.

Had an assassin gotten here first? No, that couldn't be. Everything was clean, _tidy _- it just didn't look like there had been a fight.

The Ace of Spades on Ivan's pillow begged to differ.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	4. Linking Up

**Four Aces**

**#3: Linking Up**

**X X X**

He paced the length of the train station platform anxiously, a borrowed phone to his ear as he listened to the ringing at the other end. "C'mon... c'mon! Pick up, damnit," Jet muttered to himself. He threw an agitated glance at the overhead timetable, gave his fellow commuters a quick look, and steered his attention back to the phone. For now it was too crowded here for an assassin to try anything, but it paid to be cautious. According to the information that he and Ivan had gathered, Diamonds was definitely audacious enough to try it anyway. Given the track record of Spades, Jet wouldn't be surprised if _he_ popped up either. Murderous bastard.

When the automated voice told him that it had rung out, Jet cursed and did his best to not fling the phone onto the rail tracks.

After scrounging up the contact information that had been left behind in the hotel room – a surprisingly large amount – Jet had booked it and come straight to the nearest train station. He had the work of three soldiers on his back which meant that he had to work faster than he'd ever had to in his life. Now, while waiting for a train to the most remote place he could find on the map (the less witnesses for a flying man, the better), he'd flicked through and decided to start with those who would need the most warning.

Like 003.

Like 003, who _wasn't answering the phone_.

Pulling the small device from his ear for the umpteenth time, Jet had his thumb on the 'end' button when he heard a voice on the other end – heart in his throat, he did his best to stay coherent. "003!"

"_Hello? Hello – oh! ... Jet, is that you?_"

"Yeah, it's me – listen, we're in some deep- serious trouble." It had to be something about the opposite sex that made him watch his tongue around them.

"_W__here is everyone else?_" she asked, after a slight pause. That was Francoise for you, always thinking of others first.

"I don't know – that's what I'm trying to do now. 001's... gone and so is 009. I need you to get hold of 004 and 007, and meet me where the sharks don't go." It was an old, old code – he crossed his fingers in the hope that it would work.

Another pause. Silently, Jet begged for 003 to not question the fate of their friends. He didn't want to have that conversation. "_Got it,_" she said, much to his relief, "_Are you going after the others?_"

"Yeah." The train was pulling in now. He glanced around again in fear of seeing that black-and-white uniform. "Look – be really, really careful okay? There's four different assassins after us. Cyborgs. Don't do anything to draw attention, just get the others."

_"Alright,"_ she answered. Jet couldn't see her, but knew the woman was nodding. "_I'll do what I can. See you soon."_

"Thanks, 003."

He ended the call as the train slid into the station and tried to wait patiently for the doors to open. Jet moved through the shift of people with an expertise that New York streets gave him, finding a little niche to stand in that put his shoulder against the wall.

He didn't see the assassin who followed him onto the train.

**X X X**

The Berlin-Tegel Airport was a hive of activity, churning out new arrivals at a steady rate. As taxis pulled up and passengers spilled out of them, others collected their bags and joined the queue for those same vehicles. It was noisy and full of life: perfect for a certain Cyborg to slip through and into the grand building.

004 - aka Albert - made his way to the nearest desk and in swift, muttered sentences had secured six plane tickets for six closely scheduled flights, many of which would end up in Paris or a nearby region. Afterwards he bought himself a coffee, a paper, and sat down to wait. When the boarding calls came he folded the paper, binned the coffee, and joined the crowds.

What he did next _had_ to be unexpected. He slipped out the other side and made for the nearest exit. Albert wasn't going to Paris; Francoise was coming to _him_ – then together, they'd go and get GB.

**X X X**

The next few hours passed in a blur.

An hours-long train ride had taken Jet well out of the mega-city and brought him to a place suitably remote. Stumbling off the train on stiff legs, Jet had to curse his decision to not use an airport. Surely that would have been _easier_. Faster. More comfortable.

And... probably more dangerous.

With a sigh to himself, Jet journeyed away from the train station into a local world where his foreign colouring was more distinct than ever. He did his best to ignore that and look like a man of private business, picking the next name on the phone to call. During the train trip he had fiddled with the strategy that he and 001 had first designed. If Spades had seen it, he'd know what the next move was - and Jet wasn't willing to give that kind of advantage to an enemy.

He had already called 004 and advised the man to get hold of 003. 004 had too many questions for what could be said on an open line - Jet had been able to end the call quickly. That left him with just four more comrades to contact.

If he was lucky, they'd still be alive and safe.

It took more than one go to even connect with 005's phone – trust him to live somewhere with a lousy connection. He let it run for the same number of rings as 003's had but, when there was no response, Jet felt that panic starting to crawl down his spine again. The call timed out and he stubbornly dialled again, wishing that Geronimo had included an answering machine in his home.

After three more timeouts, Jet swore colourfully and pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. 003, 004 and himself were all signed off on it – 001 and 009 were crossed out.

He jotted down a question mark next to 005. He'd have to try again - there was no guarantee that the man would be awake or even at home, right then. It didn't mean that he was already taken.

Maybe if he told himself that often enough, it would keep the others safe.

Jet turned into what looked like a quiet alley between two houses and shoved the paper back into his pocket without care for crumpling it. He kicked his heels together to trigger the power surge necessary for a lift-off, checking one last time for any immediate witnesses.

With a whoosh of flame the cyborg took to the sky, disappearing behind the first available cloud cover as he headed for China. Jet knew that later there would be an article in the local paper about a mysterious flying man and the certainty of a hoax - but he would be too far away for it to matter.

**X X X**

Through the watery light of an early winter morning in London they looked like a couple from an era long gone. Shoulder to shoulder but without hands touching, the vintage clothes and their modest gait were picturesque to the point of being cut from a film. Together Francoise and Albert cut their path through a slumbering neighbourhood, each doing their best to juggle between looking casual and keeping an intense eye on their surroundings. It was fortunate that both of them hailed from European countries; the icy terrain was less of a disadvantage.

Francoise had only arrived in Berlin late the previous night after doing her best to lay a complex path that would take a mastermind to follow. She'd used a variety of trains, buses, anything that allowed her to change stations, change modes, and to hide in the crowds whilst she did it. Albert had waited for their rendezvous with anxiety, watching every shadow over his shoulder until Francoise occupied the space in front of him.

After that, they'd come straight to England. It was risky to do so but deemed necessary in favour of getting to GB before anyone else did. Jet had said there were four Hunters – _four_, and just one of those four had already taken out two of their best.

The stakes hadn't been this high in a decade or more.

Jet hadn't told them where to find GB but it wasn't necessary – Francoise knew he hadn't moved recently and both she and Albert had visited him in the last year or two. He lived in a skinny little terrace a taxi ride from his favourite theatre: his front door was the only blue one in the street.

As the pair turned the last corner the change in their body language would be imperceptible to the untrained eye, but Albert was loosening his gloves whilst Francoise scanned the house for any danger.

"See anything?" he asked her in a quiet mutter – the first words since they'd arrived in the district.

Francoise shook her head in answer. "No. I think we'll be okay."

"Okay then," Albert nodded, picking up the pace a bit. "Stay close – I'll go first."

Francoise had no trouble complying with this – she trusted her friend's abilities.

Under the watch of a silent street they crept up the path to GB's home together. Some of the curtains were pulled whilst others were not; his front step hadn't been used in hours but in the wake of overnight snow, that didn't necessarily mean anything. If he was still sleeping, it was all normal.

They took turns to peer through the windows, neither knocked – Francoise had a key from her last visit, which they had agreed to use. It was stiff in the lock but gave way under her hand. The door's hinges squeaked, announcing their arrival.

Slipping in quickly, the cold feel of the house didn't escape either cyborg – and both knew that GB _adored_ a warm house. The worried look that passed between them was not the last of its kind – this wasn't a good sign.

Albert scaled the narrow steps to check the upper floor, whilst Francoise carefully searched the rooms on the ground. By the time her companion returned downstairs entirely empty-handed, something had caught her attention in the kitchen.

"Look," she murmured, prising a magnet from the fridge door. The pamphlet under it advertised a performance at the local playhouse, with GB listed as the director. "It's showing at the moment," she added as she passed it to Albert.

The man turned it over in his hands thoughtfully, then passed it back to her. "We can start there," he told her with a nod. "Maybe someone saw something – Francoise?"

The woman's body had gone stiff, her eyes blank as she tuned into something. "There's someone outside, heading west-north-west towards the door."

Albert whipped around to stare towards the front of the house, now thinking very quickly. "Are they the only one?" he asked. If they were lucky, it would be a civilian. It wasn't GB, Francoise would have known.

"Yes," she confirmed.

"Okay - we're going to have to get out through the conservatory -" Albert paused at the sound of the mail slot opening, then a sinister _cha-tink-tink-tink_ of something metal hitting the floorboards at a roll. "- 003?" What was it?

Her eyes had gone wide. "It's a grenade!"

Albert was pretty sure that his own expression was not too far from her shocked one. He didn't pause or think to question her, just grabbed the woman's arm and ran for the door to the conservatory.

The pair of them cleared the kitchen just in time for the explosion to rip through the hallway and the rest of the rooms, splintering wood and flinging metal in all directions. They were flattened by the force of the blast, arms instinctively over their heads whilst huddled against the floor. As the explosion ended and smoke started to permeate the room, Albert was first to scramble to his feet. He collected Francoise by the arm and helped the coughing woman up, his free hand grabbing at the conservatory door. It was locked, but that meant nothing to a man who was half metal. He forced it open and they spilt into the garden, the first wail of sirens audible already.

Their run was haphazard and neither could move in a very straight line, but with each other for support they made it the length of the garden and vanished over the fence.

The escape was watched carefully by the same assassin who had conquered GB less than ten hours ago, arms folded snugly under her bust. Painted red lips held a pout as she tracked them until they were out of sight. "Ah, poo," she mumbled to herself, setting off down the steps after them. "You're not supposed to go _that_ fast."

It didn't really matter because she didn't need to _catch_ them - they just had to keep running.

Sooner or later, she'd find out where they wanted to run _to._

Then, she'd find the rest of them.

**X X X**

**T****o be continued.**


	5. Rendezvous

**Four Aces**

**#4: Rendezvous**

**X X X**

It had to be said that the trail of smoke left in the wake of 002 was not particularly… subtle.

He supposed that was why the Cyborg had come so far away from busy areas.

With a shoulder propped lazily against the outside wall of a corner store, a young man watched the airborne figure. Black eyes were thoughtful long after his target had disappeared under the cover of clouds. The move meant only one thing: 002 knew he had to leave Japan quickly. It was a pain in the ass - he'd only found the kid by fluke and now he had one hell of a hard time to catch up again.

It was like trying to catch a damn flea.

A device on his wrist began to flash, demanding his attention. He glanced to it boredly and sighed, tapping it with the other hand. Why people insisted on bothering him mid-job was a mystery. They never had anything good to give him. "Yeah, what?"

"_Spades. Where are you?"_

"Found 002," he answered with a look to the empty sky.

"_Is he alright?_"

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you mean," Spades replied flatly. He straightened from the wall and pushed into a walk - whatever his next order was, he knew it was going to involve trying to catch up to Cyborg Zero-Zero-Flea. That would figure.

"_Where is he now?"_

"Mm… hard to say. Kid took himself of into the countryside and got airborne."

"_I thought he would try to stay unnoticed. I guess I was wrong."_

Spades shrugged, lacking the will to care too much about it. "Pretty much everyone gets irrational at a time like this. You know him better than me - where's he going?"

"_It doesn't matter,_" came the dismissive response_, "I want you to head for the co-ordinates I gave you. If you go now, you won't be too far behind."_

"Not gonna' worry about 006?" It was on the way…

"_No. We'll have more luck getting both of them when we locate the others."_

"Yes 'Boss'," Spades replied sarcastically. By now he had reached the station platform again, where the little timetable told him he had five minutes to the next train. "So you want me in Seles, huh?"

"_Yeah."_

"Well, you'll be there before me. Try to avoid getting killed."

A sigh filtered through from the other end. "_See you in Morocco, Spades."_

"Yeah, sure." The line went dead and Spades disengaged from communication mode. As he queued for a train ticket, he shook his head in disbelief and remarked to himself, "I _hate _these jobs."

**X X X**

The noise on the ferry was ambient despite the cold atmosphere of the open water, people content with their safe, familiar world as they travelled across the English Channel. Portsmouth grew gradually smaller with each dip in the waves, fading quickly in the fog.

Tucked into a corner on the port side, Francoise sat on a bench with one hand to her temple. Albert stood nearby, arms folded over the edge of the railing as he watched the sea below. He had one careful eye on the woman - he admired her strength, but knew the grenade had hit her worse than it had hit himself.

In a spurt of ambition he straightened from the rail, hiking a thumb towards the inside. "I'll be right back," he promised, and walked away before she could protest.

It was only a few steps to the cafeteria inside, where a handful of people queued patiently for their turn. Albert joined them, toying with the coins in his hand as he eyed off the menu board.

"Ooh - excuse me -" he felt a gentle push from behind as someone tried to squeeze between him and a column; in turning to look, a whip of red hair brushed over his nose. The tingling caught him immediately and Albert sneezed hard enough to bend over.

"Oh - I'm sorry - are you alright?" the owner of the red hair stooped next to him, a hand going to his neck. The contact stung and he flinched away. Attributing it to a bruise he hadn't previously noticed, Albert nodded and wove a hand at the woman to hopefully, make her retreat.

"I'm fine." Whether he was or not, the attention couldn't be afforded.

"Well, if you say so…" the doubt was clear in her voice but she seemed glad to leave him alone, disappearing around the corner.

Albert let her go, forgetting the woman in favour of caring for another. His turn in the queue was quick to arrive, the employee jovial, the transaction swift. He nodded thanks to the figure on the other side of the register, took his purchase and returned to Francoise, bottle of water in hand.

"Here," he offered, holding it out as he sat down alongside her.

The woman lifted her head from her hands, startled at his sudden return. She paused, then took it with a small smile. "Thankyou. I'm sorry to be such a bother."

"Don't worry about it," Albert answered with a small wave of the hand. "The shockwaves from the grenade would have hurt me too, but I'm less organic than you are."

"I guess that's true," the woman conceded quietly, sipping from the bottle. Recapping it afterwards, she stared into the distance for some time before asking abruptly, "Do you think the others are alright?"

Albert, disrupted from his own thoughts, looked to her with a blink. After a moment he smiled, a hand to her shoulder. "Of course they are."

"But - Joe, and Ivan -"

"I know. But they didn't have any warning - we do." At least… that's what he hoped - Jet hadn't told him anything specific. He couldn't imagine the consequences if 009 and 001 had been on equal footing with their opponent.

"What if Jet didn't get to the others in time?"

"Even if he didn't, we'll get them back. We're a family, Francoise, no-one gets left behind."

The woman seemed to listen, but her unhappy expression didn't change. "I just… I thought all our fighting was over."

"I know - we all did."

They fell into a companionable silence as the pair often did, passing the time with their private thoughts. Francoise sipped from the water bottle routinely, grateful for the refreshment and what it did for the headache she'd attributed since leaving London.

About halfway through the journey, Albert stood from the bench and returned to the railing. He motioned for Francoise to copy him, which she did after leaving the now-empty bottle on the bench. As she joined him, he asked quietly, "Are you ready?"

Francoise nodded with a grim expression, her grip on the rail tightening.

"Okay then."

Gathering himself, Albert vaulted over the railing in one go, leaping cleanly from the vessel.

The ocean was there to catch him, filling his mouth with the taste of salt whilst the cold water wrapped around his chest like an iron band. A swish of water and the explosion of thousands of tiny bubbles near him told Albert that Francoise had followed too. He stuck his hand out blindly, trying to find her before the current caught them.

In a stroke of luck he caught her arm; she grabbed his in return. Overhead the ferry churned away without them, none the wiser for being short two passengers.

Together they sank down, Albert slightly faster because of his heavier make. Francoise kept her eyes closed, using her internal radar to scan the environment. There were so many ships and she was so _tired_... what if the co-ordinates were wrong? What if they'd changed?

"-There!"

It came out as a stream of bubbles and it took a moment for the woman to realise she'd tried to speak at all. Her eyes had flown open, trying to peer through the murky water for the familiar shape of the Dolphin.

It cruised into view like it'd been there all along, hanging low to avoid the vessels on the surface.

The two Cyborgs shared a look of joy and swam towards it eagerly. _Sanctuary._

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	6. Travel Safe

**Four Aces**

**#5: Travel Safe**

**X X X**

For a short, stout man, Hong Kong was a big and busy place during the afternoon peak hour rush. It was a plight that Chang experienced daily as he pushed and squeezed his way through the mess of people on the street, at transport stations, on stairwells and into elevators. When it got particularly bad he would give into temptation and puff a bit of flame at someone's derrière to get them out of the way; it made him chuckle to see them scurry away in alarm.

He used it sparingly, of course, even if Black Ghost had been absent from their lives from a good ten years now. Chang was wise about the ways of the world – he knew it wouldn't last, that there would be a time when he and his comrades had to live on the edge of the world again, sleeping in shifts with a twenty-four hour guard.

At least when that day came, he could cook for friends again. Chang couldn't count the number of times he'd walked into a room with his best cooking on the plate and seen eight or nine hungry faces staring at him. Running a restaurant... it just wasn't the same.

Sure, it was a _successful _restaurant. He hadn't had a bad review in four years and the Reservation list was twenty-two months long. It was the realisation of his dream to be a famous chef… but what good was that when the faces you served, were not your friends?

As one little person in a sea of a hundred more, he plodded up the stairs to the train station. Shuffling through the turnstiles patiently, he waited in the edge of the platform, small black eyes watching the railway tracks absently. His thoughts were full of memories - trying to teach Jet how to peel a potato properly (had the lad ever managed one without cutting off a finger?), blaming Joe and Albert for burning a soup… in the days on the Dolphin he'd told them all, quite regularly, to come and visit his dream restaurant. None of them ever had.

He knew _why_, of course. There was a permanent fear, lurking at the back of their minds that Black Ghost would find them, come in the dead of the night and pick each 00 Cyborg off one by one. In time the fear dwindled, but the impulse to remain inconspicuous remained. They were extraordinary beings with powers so great that others like them had been pictured as Gods. The danger of Black Ghost was omnipresent but the danger of being outed by their neighbours… Chang had no desire to be the next _Yeren_.

He was sure his friends felt the same. Still, he wished they would stop by.

The train came sliding into the station with the scree of metal on metal, sliding to a neat stop exactly where it was meant to. People flooded through the carriage doors in both directions and somehow, the little Cyborg made it onto the train without being trampled.

Chang hoisted himself up onto a seat that squeaked under his weight with a despondent sigh. He never enjoyed the commute to work. His stubby legs jutted out into the air, covered in the chequered pattern of a chef's pants. He would have swung them idly but his shoes were a few centimetres short of brushing against the extraordinarily long legs of the man across from him. Even though the man's head was hidden by a newspaper, Chang could imagine the glare if he kicked a kneecap accidentally.

All around him people packed themselves into the aisle like sardines, filling every possible crevice. As one body they lurched when the train started to move, some holding their balance better than others. Chang was grateful for his seat - he had often been squished into an uncomfortable corner of the train and because of it, had missed his stop no less than three times. Watching his fellow commuters absently his mind began to drift, pondering the fate of the restaurant that night. He had tweaked the menu a week previous and was starting to wonder if the popularity of his new dishes was a fortunate choice or merely a fad.

The man opposite had started to fidget, deftly folding the newspaper as he made an effort to sit up straighter. Chang watched from the corner of his eye with disinterest – until he saw the hair - that _nose_ - that face!

He gaped, then accused in a low, scandalised voice, "002!"

The young man grinned, tucking the newspaper under one arm. "Yo," he greeted, his voice similarly low.

Chang rubbed his eyes furiously before asking his next question. "What are you doing here?" Had he come to visit? Did he come to see the restaurant?

"I was just… in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop by."

He had! Chang bristled with excitement, Jet's words running back in his head - it struck him that Jet had paused. Why would he pause? There had tobe something else that Jet wanted to say. Eyeing off his friend, Chang repeated carefully, "Just in the neighbourhood?"

Jet smirked a little, and nodded out the window. They had arrived at the next station and he was preparing to stand - he wanted Chang to join him in getting off the train. "Well, I guess Tokyo is kind of pushing it," he admitted.

If Chang wanted any further explanation, he had to wait - the crowd was moving, sweeping himself and Jet off the train.

**X X X**

Together, the two men had departed the platform, moving against the traffic of the peak hour flow. Now they were back on the street, Chang staying as close as possible to Jet - he hadn't yet told his friend that they were in a bad part of town, but he got the impression that Jet knew anyway.

They turned into an alley and Chang looked to his friend, curious for an explanation. This was going to make him awfully late for work - "Whoa!" In a horrible, jerking moment, the ground had dropped from underneath his feet. He realised that Jet had grabbed him under his arms and lifted them into the air … leaving his stomach behind, he was sure. They flew up past the buildings at a rapid pace, Chang doing his best to not squirm. "Whoa – 002! What's the urgent urgency?" he asked, clinging to the arms that held him.

Jet's tone had turned grim. "We're not safe, 006," he explained. "Black Ghost is after us again – right now, you're the only one I know isn't in their hands… and that's because I'm with you."

"Oh." He blinked up at Jet. Perhaps it was the afternoon sun, or the bright sky behind him - he didn't remember seeing such serious lines on the young man's face before. Things had to be bad if Jet was willing to risk flying in broad daylight. "So where are we – heey! You're too high, 002!" he'd made the mistake of looking down at Hong Kong - the tallest buildings were already far away. Chang could barely see the people on the street, ant-sized as they were.

"Sorry, 006 – I've got to take the shortest path and that means going straight up." Despite the words, Jet didn't sound terribly apologetic. "We're heading for Seles."

Chang resisted the urge to squint his eyes shut. They were so high! "Where's that?"

Jet grinned a little, starting to level out his trajectory. "Morocco, on the Mediterranean Sea." It sounded strange to fly around the world, but at his speeds… it wouldn't be more than a few hours.

"The Mediterranean sea? I should have brought my big cooking set!" There were so many good recipes around there! Good food and spices and the _seafood_! It made him drool at the thought.

"Not quite, old man."

Chang started from his daydream. "Old man?" he asked indignantly.

Wisely, Jet ignored it, continuing on with his explanation. They were safe up here - he'd admire any enemy who could hear them now. "008 has the Dolphin – and he's supposed to be picking up 003, 004 and 007."

"Where are they?"

"They _were _heading for England." Jet's tone turned abruptly sombre.

Wisely, Chang knew the time to inquire about it would be later… when they were on flat ground, and they'd know for sure if the three comrades had rendezvoused safely. He chose instead to prompt the conversation. "So how are we getting to Seles?" he asked, hazarding another glance at the world far below his feet.

Jet's grin was back. "Easy. We fly."

Chang gaped at the idea. "The whole way there? Oh… I'm not a good flight passenger," he complained, clinging all the more strongly to Jet.

"Ah, don't sweat it. I promise to hold off the fancy moves until we get there."

Chang whimpered some more, giving in to the temptation to shut his eyes tightly. "Oh, please do. I don't think my stomach could take it."

**X X X**

"Welcome aboard the Dolphin."

They were the first words to greet Albert as he arrived on the navigational deck, a towel loose over his head as he scrubbed his hair dry. He had changed clothes, but hadn't put his uniform on - he didn't know where they were going and was reluctant to stand out.

Pyunma twisted in his seat to grin at the man, black eyes watching as the senior Cyborg wandered closer.

"Yeah," Albert muttered, sliding into the copilot seat. "Home sweet home." His tone refused to betray any enthusiasm he might have had for being back on board the ship.

Pyunma twisted back around to face the front, an eye on the autopilot as he kept most of his attention on his fellow Cyborg. "002 didn't give me a lot of warning - just enough to save the day," he told him, the smug tone meant as a joke.

Despite himself, Albert smiled. "It's good to see you, friend," he answered. "I'm just glad the code worked."

"The first part, anyway," Pyunma clarified.

Albert nodded his assent, replaying the instruction in his mind. A Cyborg never forgot his assignment. _Meet me where the sharks don't go._

The first part of the code was actually at the back - 'the sharks don't go.' It referred to finding the Dolphin in the sea - all Albert and Francoise had to do was get on a boat. The Dolphin tracked them, ready to collect its passengers once they'd found a way to disembark.

Now came the second task - 'meeting' Jet. It was a rendezvous, but the wordplay was important. In this part of the world there were few bases that the Black Ghost had abandoned: it was drawn to the political strife like a bee to nectar. The only one they had ever found unserviced was the Mediterranean External Auxiliary Terminus - MEAT. The underwater access made it perfect for them.

With that thin line between 'meat' and 'meet', Jet had ensured it would be some time before they were located. He'd come a long way since his days as a rash, fists-first, independent fighter.

"It won't take long to get to our destination," Pyunma was saying. His words pulled Albert back to reality, who glanced over to show he was listening. "If you need to rest, you should do it now."

Albert shook his head. "No - I'm alright. I'll take her for a while."

If Pyunma was tempted to argue, he let it go, twisting his seat to get up. "I'll be back before we get there," he said, then left with a nod and a smile.

He padded to his bunk dutifully, stopping only to exchange a greeting with Francoise as he passed her - he forgot to search for 007, though he was keen to reunite with that comrade also. Pyunma slid into his bed aware of how _empty _the ship felt with just four people aboard, but he didn't let it stop him from sleeping. It was going to change.

Surely Pyunma would feel differently when he realised that 007 had not been among the new passengers.

Francoise joined Albert on the deck, taking her seat to monitor for any pursuing craft. Albert was content to let her work, adjusting himself to the feel of the ship under his command once more.

Silently under the surface of the Atlantic sea, the Dolphin chugged on towards Seles.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	7. Pursuit

**Four Aces**

**#6: Pursuit**

**X X X**

She was a little red blur on a broad and dusty highway, figure hunched low over the motorcycle as it raced along with the steady hum of the engine. Her hair streamed out like a pretty crimson banner behind her, with no helmet to shield her skull from the ground in the event of an accident. If she did manage to throw this bike into a collision, the cyborg didn't want to be awake for the aftermath anyway - the Assassin of Hearts was certain that Black Ghost would replace the damaged parts with bits from her own body.

One of the more expensive creations to come from Black Ghost's laboratories in the last few years, it was unlike any machine available to the public. The edges were sharp like razorblades to avoid an enemy's pesky radar, whilst the saddlebags on the flanks of the bike bristled with grenades, tins of gunpowder, fuses, and several other things she had acquired - quite illegally - from Black Ghost's arsenal. A dozen buttons blinked at her from the miniature dashboard, which Hearts carefully avoided. Hitting any one of them here, at this speed, would signal an end to her mission - and herself, for the bike was capable of adopting any one of several other vehicle shapes.

Below the buttons a small GPS screen tracked the movement of one of her targets, which at the moment, she was parallel to. The sneaky bastard had gotten away from her before she realised and had at least an hour's head start on her - who would have thought he'd go kami-kaze off the side of a ferry! She had a finely detailed plan for when she found him, and it started with breaking his iron legs. This was the second time she'd lost track of 004, and Hearts had no patience for a third.

Of course, finding him was going to be the tricky part. He was travelling through the water with that silly girl cyborg, and he had definitely come in this direction towards Africa. Unfortunately for her, there were so many sea ports along the coast here that he could be going to any one of them - if she knew what type of craft they were in, she might have been able to narrow down the options. If she had to double-back to find him, the missed time might be just enough for one of the other Assassin Cyborgs to take over the kill.

Hearts would sooner swallow a grenade than let that happen.

There was _one_ place that she knew 004 might be headed... it was a disused Black Ghost base, exactly the type that these 00-Cyborgs had been known to inhabit in the past. Hearts had no reason to hide her grin as she considered the fundamental flaw of being a good guy. You were so _predictable_.

A truck appeared ahead of her on the edge of the horizon, already going far too fast for the weight it carried, but too slow for Hearts nonetheless. She zipped into the oncoming lane to overtake, the red-coloured machine bending to her command easily. Racing past with little care for how many laws she may have broken, the woman let go of the handlebar to tap her left ear with a gloved finger.

"Comm-Base, this is Hearts," she rattled off, not waiting for the operator on the other end to acknowledge her first.

_"Hearts, this is Comm-Base. We read you, go ahead."_ Through the crackle of static, Hearts could tell that it was a woman's voice, short and professional as per the situation demanded. If she had to guess, she would have thought it to be Queen, a military woman whose entire left-half was robotic.

"That you, Queen?" she asked, choosing to ignore protocol.

_"Of course it is," _came the answer, a drawl with a twang of irritation in it. Queen did not like to diverge from protocol. _"What do you need, Hearts?"_

"I need you to pinpoint my location, and tell me what bases Black Ghost has around here. Coastal ones."

_"Alright,"_ Queen answered, _"Stand by."_

Hearts allowed the other woman to work, guiding her motorbike past the gaudy advertisement slapped on the side of the truck. As she pulled even with the cabin, she threw a wink to the driver, throttled the engine, and raced on ahead.

Queen came back to her at the same time that Hearts slipped back into the proper lane. _"The closest base is 100 clicks due north, it's an artificial island -"_

"What's the status? Hearts interrupted."

_"Active."_

"That's not it," the assassin told her, abruptly realising that she had failed to give Queen a critical parameter. "I need a list of what is disused or abandoned." Hearing this, Queen's sigh was dangerously annoyed. Hearts silently dared her to say something out loud, but was denied as the operator found what she was looking for.

_"There's only two in the Mediterranean, you're 20 clicks from the nearest one on your current trajectory."_

"It's in Seles?"

_"That is confirmed."_

"Where's the other one?"

_"It's twice as far, same direction. Pre-construction schematics show an underground path between them. There is no data to confirm whether it was completed or not."_ Hearts chose to ignore this - she was more pleased that their closeness would give her a chance at recovery if she was wrong about the base.

"Are both accessible by watercraft?" she asked next, as Seles peeked into view on the horizon.

_"Negative. Seles is the only one."_

Bingo.

"Thanks Queen, I -"

_"Yeah,"_ another voice cut in, sniggering, "_Thanks Queen. You too, Hearts. Saved me a world of trouble."_

Hearts stared down at the dash of her motorbike with wide eyes as red as her hair. "Clubs you motherf-" she snarled, the rest of her words lost in an incoherent shriek. The woman had no affection for any of her rivals, but Clubs had a special place in her heart. "How'd you get this frequency?" she demanded, gloved hands gripping the handlebars so tightly that the leather squeaked against chrome.

The fellow assassin laughed. "_You're not on anything private, Hearts. I just happened to tap in at the right time, funny how that works."_

"If you even _think _about taking my kill," Hearts began, throwing every bit of venom she could muster into the words, "I'll use your balls as grenades, Clubs! 004 and 003 are _mine_!"

_"We'll see,"_ Clubs replied, clearly amused by her fury. _"Maybe I'll save you a piece."_

He cut the line with a laugh. Hearts cut hers with a scream of rage.

**X X X**

Unaware that they had been located, when the Dolphin came to rest in an underground water chamber, the crew was silent and subdued as they disembarked. 004 had taken a rough head count on the way here and the news wasn't good. From the events in London the team knew that 007 had been captured, whilst Jet had told all of them that 001 and 009 were written off completely.

For the moment, 002, 005 and 006 could not be accounted for - although the saying went, 'no news is good news,' any experienced soldier knew that the reverse was far more truthful. Every cyborg was on edge in anticipation of the moment where they _did _hear from Jet - he seemed to know more about this than any one else, and to lose him was to lose any advantage they had.

Pyunma led the way up a narrow iron ladder, Francoise behind him and Albert at the rear. All three wore their uniforms now, a symbol of their readiness to fight Black Ghost once more. None would lie about how surreal this felt - it had been ten years since any of them had been forced to experience conflict like this - yet here they were, once more.

It made one wonder if they would ever truly be left alone by the Organisation that had created them.

A trapdoor at the top of the ladder fed through to a huge, disused warehouse. One by one the trio climbed out, straightened, and instinctively scanned the building for every possible detail they could glean. A stones throw away, a handful of military vehicles sat in formation, the tires ruined from age and the bodies covered in sand and dust. There was a large, empty space in the middle of the floor - big enough for an aircraft, Albert supposed.

Staircases hugged the far and near walls, leading to a large administration office on the upper floor. Without word and moving as one body, the three cyborgs quietly walked towards them. Pyunma saw it as a vantage point over the warehouse floor, as did Albert. Francoise just wanted to be away from the ghost-like remains.

The office itself was almost completely empty, just a few wires scattered on the carpet from old computer systems, a three-legged desk, and two dusty chairs. A wall-length window, covered in city grime provided the only light - the lamp overhead hung out of the socket at a precarious angle.

Francoise leant her back against the window and folded her arms with a quiet sigh. Like Albert, she hadn't napped on the Dolphin. She was relying on adrenaline to keep her awake and active – if she was asleep, how could she possibly detect the enemy? If she slept and they were caught, it would be her fault. Taking their cue from the woman - after all, she would be the first to know if they were under attack - Albert leant on a discoloured patch of the wall, whilst Pyunma turned a chair around to sit in.

The silence was as thick as the dust that coated the room.

Albert was the first to break the silence, steel-coloured eyes falling on his male companion. "What's our back-up?" he asked.

"We get out and regroup," Pyunma answered, "It'll be tricky - we don't know where anyone is, except ourselves. That includes Black Ghost's assassins. They could be right inside this building, listening to us plot our moves."

Francoise was, at that moment, incredibly glad she wasn't close to the door. It occurred to her that perhaps being in front of the window was not the wisest place to stand either; someone would surely notice the red uniform if they were standing outside -

"Something's coming," she said quietly.

The effect on Albert and Pyunma was like a jolt of electricity, the two men straightening from their tired state, senses alert and now vainly attempting to pick up what Francoise's radar could so clearly see.

"How big is it?" Albert asked, crossing the room. Pyunma went in the opposite direction, wanting to keep an eye on the door in the event of a pincer attack.

Francoise was frowning heavily as she analysed the readings. "It's an airborne projectile, travelling - oh! It's very fast. It's not a plane, but the mass is too great for it to be Jet."

Albert wanted to curse but bit his tongue. "Then what the hell could it be?"

A hand went to Francoise's mouth as she gasped - and then her tension was flowing away like a thawed stream, the corner of her mouth twitching as the female cyborg visibly relaxed. "It _is_ Jet," she told the room at large, hurrying to undo the window catch.

Thoroughly confused, Albert helped her to push the glass pane open so Jet could fly through it, and moved out of the way. "But you said -" he paused, staring openly as Jet came close enough to be seen by the naked eye - and upon seeing a very sorry looking Chang hanging from Jet's arms, Albert let out a whoop of laughter.

Jet had slowed considerably since hitting the airspace over the city, but not nearly enough to control his stop. He blistered several roofs as he honed in on the window that Francoise and Albert had just opened, then burnt two sizeable tracks in the carpet as he flew straight into the office.

Chang was released immediately and the plump man hit the floor in a roll, short limbs flailing in every direction until he came to a stop on his stomach, eyes squinted shut as he tried to cling to the solid ground beneath him. He was _never flying again_.

Jet, free of his cargo, threw on the brakes with everything he had. He flew across the room with both hands out - and was rewarded by thumping into the closed door. The redhead threw a weak grin to the nearest team-mate, Pyunma, and an exhausted, "Yo," to the room as he slid down the door, stopping only when the charred carpet agreed to let him sit there.

Francoise rushed to greet him, leaving Albert to shut the window and console a thoroughly air-sick Chinese chef. He did it with a grin - the assassins didn't have as much of an advantage as he had thought.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	8. Sitting Ducks

**Four Aces**

**#7: Sitting Ducks**

**X X X**

In a one-man jet he soared over the waters of the Suez Canal, the craft as black as his reputation. It bent under his will easily, the navigation system routinely assuring him that they were on track. Within minutes he had left Egyptian airspace and knowing that his arrival was imminent, a gloved hand tapped at the communication link. Now that he was in range, it was time to catch up on events.

"_- 20 clicks from the nearest one on your current trajectory."_

Hm. Who was that?

"_It's in Seles?"_

"_That is confirmed."_

The Assassin of Spades was caught between sighing and grinning. Hearts had been careless and forgotten to switch to a private frequency before asking Comm-Base for help. Now, anyone who was listening in would know where she was headed - even the 00 Cyborgs if one of them was smart enough to tap into the broadcast.

Sure enough, Clubs turned up with his usual smugness, his comments the type to push the female assassin's buttons and really piss her off. He vanished and the radio bore the brunt of Heart's anger - switching it off himself, Spades took his plane off autopilot and began the descent.

Seles, smoky and hot in the mid-afternoon came into view rapidly and he targeted the warehouse district, certain that his assigned destination was the same as where Hearts and Clubs were now headed… perhaps even Diamonds. Spades liked to keep track of their movement precisely so he could keep away from them, but with the way things were going, he obviously wasn't going to be given that luxury this time around. They were going to get in his way and make an absolute mess of the mission, he knew. It was what happened when you pushed volatile personalities together and neglected to teach them anything about diplomacy. Spades knew very well that he was no exception to this rule, but he'd had the smarts to keep away from the others so that feuding didn't get in the way.

_Warning: Unexpected environmental change at target co-ordinates. Abnormal air quality detected. _

The assassin frowned at the alert and leant forward to peer at the horizon. He cursed - a thick column of smoke was spiralling into the air - and it matched his co-ordinates.

That would be the work of Hearts, alright, making a mess of things.

Face grim as he engaged the vertical thrusters for landing on a nearby rooftop, Spades had to wonder if his employer had intended for things to be so complicated at such a crucial point in the game.

**X X X**

"I never want to fly again," Chang groaned. With Albert's help the stout cyborg had heaved himself into a wobbly chair where he sat miserably, his normally tan and cheerful face a distinct green colour in the wake of the long flight and abrupt landing.

"You may not get a choice," Jet answered weakly. He hadn't moved from where he'd landed, narrow body still breathing heavily as he slouched against the door. Heat vapours wafted up from his feet, the normally black boots now a funny brown colour whilst the soles were bright red. A product of the early technology himself, Albert knew how sore and tender his young friend's feet would be, and the havoc it would wreak on Jet's sensors when he tried to walk again.

"You really flew all the way here?" Francoise asked, clearly concerned.

"Yeah, unfortunately," Jet answered. He stretched out his arms with a quiet groan of pain, the joints unforgiving after being forced to carry Chang's weight for hours without a break. His right elbow popped; Francoise flinched but Jet didn't notice. "Can't tell you how glad I am that someone made it here," he continued, chagrin, "Turning around wouldn't have been easy."

No-one said anything in response - it hadn't been a walk in the park for any of them to get here, but they knew that Jet wasn't responsible for such difficulties. Albert watched as, prompted by the silence - or perhaps the absence of a terrible joke - the redhead glanced about the room, lips moving as he took a headcount under his breath.

Jet's face darkened at the harsh reality. "This is everyone?" he asked. Albert wasn't sure if 'everyone' included Geronimo - Jet hadn't given them any instructions about locating the gentle giant.

"GB was already gone when we got there," Francoise said sadly, sharing a look with Albert. The pair were still scuffed from the explosion at GB's home, and Albert's neck still bothered him - but he supposed that jumping into the Channel wouldn't have helped the injury, so he didn't worry about it.

Jet cursed softly and to himself, fingers twitching with a surge of adrenaline caused by the outrage of yet another loss. "I haven't heard from 005," he told the group with an annoyed sigh, "I tried calling him, but I got nothing."

"So that's the next step, then," Pyunma said from across the room. "The _Dolphin_ is -"

"Nah," Jet wove a hand to eliminate any budding plans. "I'll go - I can go faster than the _Dolphin_ and I'm harder to follow. Just let me rest and refuel and -"

"We go together," Albert interrupted. He didn't say it out loud, but it was obvious to him that Jet was in no condition to fly anywhere on his own until he had properly recovered.

The younger cyborg frowned. "It's too dangerous for us to go as a group," he protested, "What if 005 isn't there and we lose the opportunity to rescue GB? If we all go, and it's a trap, they get all of us at once."

"By that logic we shouldn't be together at all," Pyunma answered, doing what he could to avoid sounding like he was picking on Jet's current plan, but make the point that the cyborg's reasoning was flawed.

"If you go alone," Albert said impatiently, "We lose a major advantage."

With a scowl, Jet pushed up from the carpet, forcing his tired body onto his feet. Francoise stood as well, moving a step or two back so that he had room to move. Jet's angry expression hid any pain that his feet were certain to give him - Albert might have been impressed by the tenacity if he wasn't so annoyed with this streak of defiance. Jet was a good soldier who made excellent judgements in a crisis - _usually_. In the days where they had operated as a team, Jet's youthfulness and inherent tendency to be rash had regaled him to a permanently subordinate position. To Albert, that hadn't changed - so Jet didn't get to call the shots. Watching him straighten, Albert didn't shy away from steady eye contact.

"We don't _have_ any advantages," Jet told him bluntly.

For a moment, no-one moved. That short phrase was the slap in the face from reality's gauntlet - Albert felt a swirl of denial rise in his chest at such an ugly truth. It took a lifetime of experience to side-step the looming argument about what they did or didn't have. The situation was far too fragile for someone as impulsive as Jet to remind them of the insurmountable odds they seemed to face. "You're not going alone," Albert told him, forcing finality into his voice.

The scowl was harsher than before. "Do you even realise how much danger we're in?"

"All we know is what you've told us," Pyunma said quietly, "And that isn't much."

A hand went to Jet's forehead as he sighed heavily. "I don't even _remember_ what I've told you guys," he said honestly.

"We know there's four of them," Francoise supplied, "And that they're assassins from Black Ghost."

"Right," Jet murmured. Albert caught a look that said the matter about fetching 005 wasn't finished yet, but then Jet put his back to them and hobbled over to the three-legged desk. He leant against it enough to take some weight off his feet, shoulders slumped with an acute exhaustion that only confirmed Albert's opinion about his energy levels. "They're all cyborgs," Jet explained, "I don't know if they were abducted like us, or if they volunteered. 001 wanted to know, but I don't really care. They're not combat models, they're engineered assassins."

"Are they a group?" Pyunma asked.

"No," Jet shook his head, "They're individual units. I don't know if they've been assigned specific targets amongst us, or if it's a free-for-all. 001 was trying to work that out, but we ran out of time."

"Were 001 and 009 taken by the same cyborg?" Albert asked. Francoise flinched at the mention of their fallen comrades, but held herself together. Chang lifted his head with a stare - no-one had told him that they had lost anyone. He opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, thought the better of it, and stayed silent so that he could hear what Jet was saying.

"Yeah, Spades - he's the most dangerous one - took them both out, and they're not easy targets. We thought it would be Diamonds."

Albert thought for a moment. "So we need to be worried about Diamonds now?"

Jet shook his head, frustration getting the better of him. He had never been good at this 'slow stuff'. "We need to be worried about _all_ of them, which is why it's so dangerous. I don't know where any of them are, they could easily come from all four directions and completely annihilate us. We could walk into one of Clubs' traps at the same time that Hearts throws a grenade -"

"Oh!"

Jet stopped, thrown off by Francoise's sudden exclamation. "What?"

"That's who took GB," she told him, "Albert and I, we were hit by a grenade when we were looking for him."

"She's right," Albert confirmed with a short nod. He put a hand to his neck with a wince - his gloved fingers brushed something abnormal and he froze. That couldn't be… _When_ had he gotten a tracer?

No-body appeared to notice, far more concerned with whatever else Jet might know. "Is there anything more?" Pyunma asked, jaw tight.

"That's all I know," Jet answered with a shrug, "It's all that 001 told me on the way to Japan."

The African cyborg hmmed over this, then asked a question that (had he been paying attention) Albert would have been familiar with - it was the same as one of his own. "Why did he come to you?"

The shrug was more vacant than before. "He turned up on my doorstep one - two? - days ago in New York. Said there wasn't much time and we had to leave right away - didn't tell me anything about where we were going, not even about Black Ghost being involved -"

"So how do you know it's Black Ghost?" Chang asked. His round little body quivered when Jet turned a murderous eye on him. "Uhm…"

"He told me on the way," Jet answered, more sharply than what was necessary. "I was gonna' argue about going somewhere with no information, but let me tell you, having an eleven-year-old turn up on your doorstep at midnight is gonna' get your attention… eleven? Ten?"

"Eleven," Francoise confirmed.

"Ten," Pyunma said at the same time.

Jet blinked at them whilst they blinked at each other. Their synchronism was so absurd, their expressions so surprised that the corner of Francoise's mouth was curling up with suppressed laughter, whilst the corners of Pyunma's eyes creased under the same threat. Jet slumped in surrender and let out a quiet laugh. The age of a dead kid wasn't supposed to matter, but it _did_.

The others joined in with laughter of their own, not particularly loud but purely because it was the only emotional vent they had in the company of others. Only Albert didn't join in, having missed the joke and far more concerned about the fact he had a damn beacon stuck on his neck.

It was Jet who noticed first, and his amusement faded almost immediately. "What's wrong -"

"We're under attack!" Francoise was stiff, eyes blank as she honed in on the invader. "Ground floor, three hundred meters south-east. Male, cyborg, one hundred and sixty-five centimetres, ninety-five kilos, he's armed but he's not - there's another, fifty metres behind him - it's the same cyborg as in London - Hearts, I'm sure of it."

"How the hell did they -" Jet forgot about Albert completely, copying his comrade's actions as Pyunma grabbed his laser pistol and moved to guard the door. Chang almost fell off his seat, now a different shade of green altogether, and Francoise didn't move, tracking them. Albert grabbed the bug, yanked it from his skin, and vented his pain by stomping on it. This caught Jet's attention, the man stopping mid-step. "What was that?" he demanded.

"A bug," Albert answered curtly, grinding it with his heel. "That's how they know we're here."

"When the hell did you learn that?"

"Too late now," Pyunma cut in, "We're sitting ducks in here."

"We're sitting ducks wherever we are," Jet growled. Now in combat mode, his mechanical system dimmed his pain sensors, allowing him to stalk forwards, pistol in one hand and the other reaching for the door.

"Be careful you idiot -!" Albert lunged after him, but didn't make it. The force of an explosion ripped through the building, the glass window behind them obliterated as shockwaves struck the brittle material. All of them lost their balance, and Pyunma might have remained on his feet if not for the office door popping open to whack him square on the shoulder. The acrid smell of smoke was quick to fill the air, fire making quick work of the chemicals that Black Ghost operatives had left behind years ago.

The recovery was quick - the cyborg lifestyle meant that all of them had been in more explosions than anyone ever felt like counting. Chang, breathing small puffs of flame in annoyance was first on his feet. Albert grabbed Francoise whilst Jet helped Pyunma to his feet.

The shrunken team shared a grim look, and made for the door as one unit. They weren't prepared for the fight, but that had never stopped them in the past.

**X X X **

**To be continued.**


	9. Chaos and Conflict

**Four Aces**

**#8: Chaos and Conflict**

**X X X**

Just outside the warehouse walls of the Mediterranean East Auxiliary Terminus, a stout black Jeep waited silently. A black make, the dusty body was carefully tucked into a narrow alley between two great warehouses, where it was likely to be ignored by anyone in that street – unless you were a particular woman on a particular hunt.

From a distance beyond human capacity, Hearts spotted the little white club stencilled on the front grill of the Jeep, and with a snarl she sped towards it. At the last moment and with expert control, she threw the bike into a sliding stop, tyres shrieking and metal shuddering at the force. Kicking up a shower of pebbles and other street debris, the machine propped just shy of slamming into the Jeep's bonnet.

Assessing quickly that the thieving bastard Clubs was nowhere nearby, Hearts flung a leg over the body of her bike and slipped off of it, a hand grabbing her saddlebags as she went. The woman was muttering to herself, dead set on finding him and blowing him to smither -

Hearts paused. Thinking for a moment she twisted back to look at the Jeep, a glint appearing in her red eyes. It would only take a minute to ensure he couldn't – wouldn't – escape her retribution.

**X X X**

Some distance from his rival and unaware that she was so close behind him, the Assassin of Clubs – as stout and dark as his jeep – prised one of many warehouse doors open. He'd just spent twenty minutes disarming the building's security and alarm system, using every code Black Ghost had ever given him, plus a few more he had weaselled out of Queen earlier in the day. He'd called back to confirm one of them and found Hearts on the line; now he felt like thanking the two women for their carelessness, for without it he'd have been over at the other base, and far behind the prey.

Now he carefully crept into the building, remaining in a crouch as he both listened for any traps triggered by a perimeter breach, and considered making some of his own. A building like this was rife with opportunity – so many that he failed to notice the red and orange blur that soared over his head and into one of the building windows.

When nothing sprung out at him or threatened destruction, Clubs took refuge behind a disused utility vehicle, allowing the warehouse door to swing shut of its own accord. Head tilted slightly he attuned his engineered hearing to the voices of people overhead – their voice prints matched the ones Black Ghost had given them upon assigning the mission. Confident that at least four cyborgs were overhead, he started sneaking from one piece of cover to the next, patiently working his way across the building's floor.

He had one foot on the base of the stairs when his peripheral sensors screamed at him – whipping around, black eyes fell on a furious red figure. Clubs scowled – but words died in his throat when he saw what Hearts had in her hand. The ring was between her teeth, and the spoon...she wasn't holding it. Despite himself Clubs gaped – she was cooking off the grenade.

_Holy shit_.

He didn't say a word, the mechanics in his body going into overdrive – or rather, 'survival mode'. Bolting up the iron steps two at a time, Clubs listened for the tell tale clink of the grenade landing after a throw.

It came when he was halfway up the flight. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the round hand-grenade bouncing on the steps just below him – in a slow motion miracle, it rolled right off the stairs.

Clubs barely had time to register the fact that Hearts had already ducked for cover and that he should too – before he could start thinking such things, it exploded viciously. The percussion flung him from the stairs like a ragdoll, amidst a rain of twisted metal, chunks of concrete and shrapnel.

**X X X**

Diamonds had always maintained that of his comrades, neither Hearts nor Clubs were terribly bright on the tactical front when it came to dealing with an armed enemy. One shot first and asked questions later, the other never seemed to realise that it was possible for an enemy to be _dangerous_. Spades was no good unless you wanted the target to be dead – so Diamonds had taken it upon himself to be the best of them all. Like any self-proclaimed title it was an arrogant notion, but the Assassin either didn't care or didn't realise. If anything, the more he watched his fellow Cyborgs operate, the more sure he was of this truth.

Such was the case as, lying low on the roof of an adjacent warehouse, Diamonds bore witness to a complex chain of events. Having tracked the Dolphin and Pyunma since leaving Japan, he had decided upon this most excellent vantage point once it became clear that they would be settling in the office on MEAT's upper level.

It was a wonderful place if you wanted to be a sniper's target, and Diamonds did lament that he hadn't brought a rifle with him... it would have ended this mission well before the others arrived.

Or so he liked to think. Clubs, in fact, was not too far behind the Cyborgs, and Diamonds kept his presence hidden as he watched the trap master fight his way through the warehouse defences. He saw the advantage it gave Hearts when she ended up just a few minutes behind him, and watched as 002, flying low with his cargo, arrived to join the rest of the 00-team.

Still Diamonds did not make a move, preferring to wait until the team was embroiled with Hearts and Clubs. It would be easier to pick them off, then, which was an advantage he needed. The fact that 002 had brought 006 with him was unexpected – Diamonds had anticipated that 002 would bypass the little cyborg, for what use did a fire-breather genuinely have on a strike team? His data about the 00-team was thus incomplete, and so determined was he to bring in the most bounties (especially after that _ass_, Spades, got in his way), Diamonds wanted to maximise any advantage he might have in bringing their hides to Black Ghost.

When Hearts entered the building hot on the heels of Clubs, Diamonds counted to fifty. Only when he was certain that they had moved away from the door, did Diamonds move to street level. Most annoyingly the punch from Spades had knocked out his radar, so he had to rely upon his other senses to judge the proximity of others when he could not see them directly.

With an ear tuned to the street around him – there was still a fourth Assassin unaccounted for, which he did not like – Diamonds slunk across the street. He had one foot over the threshold of the doorway Hearts had left open in her wake, when every danger sensor started screaming at him in unison.

As elite as he may have been, Diamonds was afforded no time before an explosion ripped through the lower level of the building, fueled by the vast amounts of oil and chemicals stocked within its walls. Struck square in the chest by the force of the blast, he was flung back onto the street where he landed on his back. Wind knocked from him completely and smacking the back of his head on the road, the red and white Assassin lay there for some time. He couldn't tell if it had been one minute or ten, but after a bit he tried to pick himself up as quickly as he could, angry that he'd taken the hit like an amateur.

"I wouldn't bother getting up," came the flippant words.

Black boots strode past calmly, heading straight for the flaming doorway. Recognising the syntax and mechanical accent immediately, not to mention that _goddamn arrogant walk_ Diamonds forced himself to stand, a snarl ripping from him. "Spades," he spat, stumbling into a walk.

The response was a cool look over the shoulder, a too-white face breaking into a smirk that Diamonds immediately wanted to rip off. "Don't worry," Spades told him smoothly, unruffled by the venom from Diamonds, "I'll take care of it."

"Like _hell_ you will -" Diamonds lunged for the assassin but miscalculated the distance – many of his systems were still running diagnostics to work out which bits had been damaged by the blast. By the time he reached the doorway Spades had vanished somewhere inside, the warehouse interior now obscured by great plumes of black smoke. Fires burnt everywhere, caused not just by the grenade but by any number of explosive or inflammable things. He could hear Hearts and Clubs not too far away, but couldn't see the 00-team.

_Just my goddamn luck to be handicapped,_ he snarled to himself and stumbled in further, choosing to ignore the critical warnings that his system now tried to deliver.

**X X X**

Far below the warehouse, safe from the chaos and conflict, a stealthy figure slipped into the underground cavern where the Dolphin bobbed gently in the water. A cyborg but not an assassin, arguably male despite a slender frame, they carefully scouted the idle ship for any possible threats.

Satisfied that there were none, he signalled to a comrade and quietly boarded the vessel.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	10. The Upperhand, Pt1

**Four Aces**

**#9: The Upperhand, Part 1**

**X X X**

Bringing up the rear of the battle-weary and ambushed cyborgs, Jet afforded himself a moment to look over the warehouse from their vantage point. The upper level of the warehouse was largely made of narrow steel walkways and the office space they had just occupied - with large gaps between the walkways, he could easily see the warehouse floor.

Or at least, he could see what _wasn't_ consumed by fire or covered by smoke. The explosion had turned into a series of fires, fueled by the chemicals, old tires, and inflammable containers that had been left behind when the Terminus was abandoned. Thick columns of black smoke were quickly turning the upper level into a haze of narrow walkways, some of which Jet was willing to bet had been torn up by the explosion.

Aware that his comrades were heading for the nearest staircase to escape the smoke, Jet had one hand on the railing. Muscles tensing, he vaulted over the railing the same way that Francoise and Albert had disembarked from their ferry - but where they met water, he found air. Freefalling for a meter or two, his boosters flared to life and halted the fall - aware that his fuel reserves were low and that this needed to be a fast fight, Jet twisted through the air as he flew across the warehouse floor, seeking the enemy. He didn't hold back - he _loved_ flying.

Cutting across the warehouse to where the source of the explosion appeared to be, the smirk on Jet's face quickly thinned to a far more grim expression. He could see two Cyborgs - red and black and white, both were visibly armed as they ... faced off against each other? What?

"_Ah!_"

Jet became aware of several things within a split-second: he was the one who yelled. He was off-course. Someone had _shot_ him.

Careening off to one side the Cyborg tumbled into an ugly landing where experience was the only thing that kept him on his feet. His side stung fiercely, which meant that it was a Cyborg weapon - which meant an Assassin.

With a scowl Jet pulled himself up straight, shoving the injury to the back of his mind and manually dimming his pain sensors a little more as he turned to find the attacker, own gun in hand. He was not disappointed, the smoke unable to hide a narrow red-and-white figure easily identifiable as Diamonds.

It was then that he became aware of a small missile heading this way, and rapid internal calculations told him it came from Albert. Sure enough, the elder Cyborg was on one knee, the other cracked open to launch the missile. Jet could see that Francoise stood to his left, a hand on the man's shoulder as her radar helped identify the targets he needed to hit.

Certain of the man's aim and Francoise's skill but unwilling to take chances, Jet propelled himself backwards, a hand to his side as he grimaced from the pain it caused his injury.

Diamonds caught on at the same time that Jet did, and with an inaudible snarl, dismissed the redhead in favour of taking out Albert. Watching the Assassin shift trajectory, Jet swore and moved forwards to go after him – mid-step, something bounced off the side of his foot. He glanced down, and saw that it was a grenade, a red heart painted on the side.

What was it about these crazy damn assassins?

Teeth gritted, Jet aimed his best kick at it without hesitation, catapulting the small device back into the air, where it narrowly crossed paths with the missile.

Oh shit, the missile.

Diamonds had moved swiftly enough to confuse the sensors - now Jet was the new target. He swore and threw himself into Acceleration, sprung into the air, and with a neat somersault to keep him on track, bulls-eyed the missile with his pistol.

It disintegrated in the slow motion typical of what he experienced in Acceleration mode, throwing debris in all directions and scorching the concrete beneath the explosion. Jet calculated his landing and returned to normal speed as his feet hit the ground, immediately struck by the shockwave of the missile detonating. Fortunately, his crouched landing allowed a lower center of gravity and this time, he stayed on his feet far more easily.

The explosion was followed by a second, smaller one from behind - glancing over his shoulder in that direction, Jet realised that it was the grenade he'd kicked. Hearts was definitely here - but had she meant to target him? Maybe it had gone wayward.

It didn't matter - a grenade wasn't going to be his exit from this life.

For the second time Jet moved to stand, feeling the skin and muscle at his side tear with the motion. His system strained to keep the pain back, out of the way where it wouldn't affect his performance.

Sometimes, being a Black Ghost creation had benefits.

Deciding he needed to finish what Diamonds started, Jet turned towards Albert and Francoise. Albert was no longer kneeling, shoulder to shoulder with Francoise as they both fired at Diamonds. The Assassin had his back to Jet, but Jet could imagine the evil smirk the cyborg would be wearing. Wiping it off his face was going to be fun.

Picking up a run, long legs ate up the ground easily, scarf streaming out like a banner behind him. Jet propped a metre away from Diamonds - thusfar unaffected by Albert's and Francoise's assault - lifted his pistol and aimed for the back of the cyborg's head.

_Click_.

It wasn't a sound so much as a feeling. His skin prickled and a ball of lead dropped into his stomach as he looked beyond Diamonds for the source.

Behind Francoise and Albert stood the unmistakeable Assassin of Spades.

From the look on his comrade's faces, Spades had a gun to both of them. Jet stared openly, but the cyborg's attention wasn't on him - it was on Diamonds. His black eyes gleamed as he smirked openly, and although it was arrogant, it lacked the elaborate smugness typical of Black Ghost scum.

"Spades! If you take my kill -"

"You move too slow," he tossed to Diamonds, obviously uncaring that it interrupted the tirade.

The redhead snarled and lunged forward in fury - Jet was aware of another _click_, and the three of them were gone.

**X X X**

On the far side of the warehouse, Pyunma and Chang were not faring that much better. They'd made it to the ground floor in one piece and after Albert stopped yelling at Jet to come back, agreed that a split was the best tactic. Everyone had functioning comlinks, regrouping would be hazardous, but not impossible.

The fires triggered by Hearts were approaching full strength, crackling and popping as they consumed every bit of junk or debris on the warehouse floor. What they needed was a way out, back to the trapdoor, back to the Dolphin, and such had become the task for Cyborgs 008 and 006.

Pyunma couldn't genuinely say that Chang was the best companion for such a job, but it would do because it had to. He led the way across the floor, laser pistol in one hand, keeping low and staying behind whatever hid him and Chang from the immediate line of sight.

"See that jeep?" Pyunma asked, nodding to a distant point. Chang looked to it and nodded, sweat dotting his forehead. Ahead, the jeep in question was on its side, the front end mangled and burnt, the axle hanging precariously short of falling off completely. A littering of glass and metal around it suggested to Pyunma that the vehicle had landed there courtesy of an explosion. He'd seen it often, at home.

"Good. The other side of that jeep is our access point."

Chang studied it for a moment, the anxiety obvious on his face. "I hate this part," he said mournfully.

Pyunma grinned, clapping his shoulder. "You can do it, just follow me," he told the stout man, and shifted in preparation to make the dash.

At Chang's confirmation, Pyunma burst into a run, keeping himself in a crouch as he left the protection of their previous cover. Silently counting his steps, he could hear Chang's heavy breathing which meant the man was right behind him, although beginning to flag. Pyunma wasn't surprised - it had little to do with fitness, and everything to do with the fact that flame-throwers were _heavy_, and Chang had one built into him. Running was simply not a strong suit.

Exactly sixty-three paces from their departure point, the relatively safe cover of the jeep swallowed them up. Pyunma dropped his back against the grimy underside with a grunt, breathing lightly from the exercise. Breathing more heavily Chang copied the action, beady little eyes scanning for what might be the next cover they'd head for.

Pyunma let him be, shifting to peer around the jeep carefully. There was no-one in sight, though scattered bits of wreckage could easily hide a foe. A stone's throw away lay the trapdoor - they were exactly where he intended for them to be. He returned to the safety of the jeep, somewhat satisfied. The trick now was to get everyone else here. He touched two fingers to his ear. "Exit identified," he broadcast, keeping his message short and concise in the event of eavesdroppers.

Pyunma didn't have to wait more than a moment before someone responded, preceded by the slight crackle of the line opening. "Get out," came the order, a panicked edge to them.

"002?"

"Take whoever's with you, and get _out_," Jet repeated, "We're outnumbered."

Pyunma ran a rapid count in his head - himself, 006, 002, 003 and 004... There were four assassins, how were they outnumbered?

And since _when_ did 002, of all of them, back down from a fight like this?

He opened his mouth to relay these things, but hesitated.

_Click_.

Like Jet before him, Pyunma felt, rather than heard it. He frowned, scanning the immediate vicinity for the source but coming up with nothing. He shifted to look around the jeep again - spotting the source, he recoiled as swiftly as he could. That was Spades, and - and he had captives.

Chang shot him a quizzical look and Pyunma motioned for silence, willing to cover the man's mouth if that's what it took. Fortunately, Chang took the hint and stilled.

Pyunma counted to five then, with the utmost care, he edged further along, and watched the cyborgs at the trapdoor carefully.

**X X X**

Disengaging Acceleration mode, Spades came to a stop at precisely where he wanted to be - the little trap door he'd been told about. With a solid grip on both Albert and Francoise he moved forward, using a foot to hook the latch and pull the metal cover aside. The dark square yawned at them, and Spades felt the need to pray this wasn't as stupid as it felt.

"Get in the hole," he told them, thrusting Francoise forward first. She stumbled in her haste to avoid the opening, side-stepping it until she was safely out of the way.

Albert, on the other hand, chose that moment to try and twist out of his grip. Spades growled and used both hands to seize the man, expertly pinning an arm behind him, laser pistol going to the back of the man's neck. Albert grunted in annoyance, but not in pain.

"_Get_ in the _hole,_" Spades snarled at Francoise, who gave it a bewildered glance before looking back to the two men.

"You're only going to try and kill us," she challenged, "Why should I make it easy for you?"

"It already _is_ easy," he told her crudely, "Get in the hole, or I drop you in there unconscious."

"No! You killed the others, I'm _not _going to do what you say, just so that you can execute us -" Francoise stopped midsentence, eyes widening. After a moment, she shook her head lightly and refocused her attention on the assassin. "Is it true?" she asked, looking anew to the escape route.

He snorted. "You're naive. Would my answer make a difference? _Do it_."

Francoise bit her lip, a hand clasped in the middle of her chest as she turned towards the opening. Albert renewed his struggle and an irritated Spades jammed the muzzle of his pistol against the cyborg's skull in warning. "Stop moving before I do it for you."

Albert growled, teeth bare as he clenched his jaw. "Don't do it," he warned Francoise, "Whatever he's got planned, freedom is better."

His words seemed to fall on deaf ears - without looking to him, Francoise stepped onto the ladder carefully, the metal warm to the touch from absorbing the heat of the surrounding concrete. She climbed a few rungs and hesitated. Spades waited with bare minimum patience and was rewarded - she kept climbing.

"No! Damnit, don't do what he says -"

When she was out of sight, Spades let go of the second cyborg, giving him a good shove as he did so. Albert didn't stumble like Francoise, but he did swear loudly. Catching himself, the Cyborg headed straight for the trapdoor entrance, peering into the black hole. "003? 003!"

"Knock it off," Spades scorned. "The only way you'll see her is by going down there too - and while you're at it, do me a favour and _stay_ down there."

Albert reached for his rarely used laser pistol, but Spades was faster, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. "You are _not,_" the assassin said in a deadly tone, "In control of the situation. You are going to get into that hole and climb all the way down the ladder to the ground. You give me any more shit for this job, cyborg, I _will _kill you."

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	11. The Upperhand, Pt2

**Four Aces**

**#10: The Upper Hand, Pt 2**

**X X X**

Albert reached for his rarely used laser pistol, but Spades was faster, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. "You are _not,_" the assassin said in a deadly tone, "In control of the situation. You are going to get into that hole and climb all the way down the ladder to the ground. You give me any more shit for this job, cyborg, I will kill you."

Pyunma sucked in a breath, grip tightening on the pistol in one hand. It was hard to hear what they were saying, but he certainly caught that last bit. He shifted, preparing to strike whilst Spades was mildly distracted. It was a rash action, but after seeing Francoise vanish, he wasn't going to let Spades have the upper hand without a fight.

He turned to pass a warning to 006 – the little man was sprawled on his back, eyes shut, a thin dart visible where it had struck him on the breast. Pyunma stared in shock, eyes wide and jaw slack. A moment later he was scrambling forward to check the cyborg's vitals, forgetting about Albert and Spades in favour of making sure 006 was _alive_. How had that – why hadn't he – _who_?

It was then that a projectile whistled through the air, striking Pyunma's red-clothed shoulder and sinking into the flesh beneath. He swore as he felt the poison flood his system, vision blurring immediately. His system tried to maintain balance but quickly lost it, and Pyunma was soon resting on his ass on the hot concrete as he tried to keep his eyes open. He was aware of a tall, red-and-white figure looming out of the smoke like a behemoth, but slumped against the underside of the overturned car, Pyunma couldn't do anything except feel the toxin pull him out of consciousness.

Stupid thing to do, becoming distracted by a comrade and letting the enemy get so close.

**X X X**

At this point, on the far side of the warehouse, Clubs hadn't felt this pissed off since he'd first woken up as a cyborg. The initial explosion had flung him fifty feet across the building and into a pile of old crates – he'd blacked out briefly and woken with two things to worry about: the fact that old, dry wood made _excellent_ kindling, and that Hearts was standing over him, silhouetted by the rising fire. She was carrying one of her stupid saddlebags (no doubt full of things to kill him with) and wore a grin that made him genuinely wonder if antagonising earlier had been a good idea.

"What is your problem?" he demanded.

"_You_!" she spat, moving to attack.

He lashed out, steelcaps going for her much skinnier ankles, even clad in leather as they were. She skipped away and he flung himself to his feet, pulling out his laser pistol and knife. She threw a grenade at him and he kicked it away, watching it spiral away through the smoke and out of sight.

Hearts tackled him with a scream about theft and a wrestling match ensued; neither noticed when the grenade came sailing back thirty seconds later, until it detonated and they were thrown apart like ragdolls in a mess of splintered wood.

Clubs landed as hard as he had the first time – it was not a strong suit of his. A sharp pain lanced from wrist to shoulder, telling him he'd done the stupid thing of trying to brace himself. Nothing felt broken, luckily. Standing, he turned in a quick circle, scouting for Hearts or viable prey. With nothing in sight he cursed and looked for a lookout point instead. The answer was a small tower of old drums, some cracked and leaking chemicals that would no doubt catch fire soon. Determined to move quickly, he trotted to it and scaled up the first tier, but in the same moment that he put his hand to the next barrel, six shots buried themselves in the metal an inch from his hand. He yanked his arm back and twisted to look for the culprit – it was Hearts, _again_. She hadn't landed as well as him, her uniform torn and skin scorched in places. One eye had been damaged and flicked from bright red to a murky brown like a misplaced christmas light.

"They're _my_ marks!" Hearts screeched, barely audible over the fire's roar, "I've been goddamn tracking them since _London_, _I'm_ the one that put the stupid tracer on them, _I'm_ the one that found this warehouse first! You tried to steal them and now you're _dead!_"

Clubs didn't hesitate to return fire, forcing a grin because it was the only thing he could do to hide the chant of _holy shit, she's insane_ in his head. "It's a game," he taunted, "I cheat. That's how it goes, Hearts. Best Assassin wins, n'I'm bettter n'you." He leapt from the barrels to the concrete, landed smoothly, and ducked for cover behind a jeep not too dissimilar from his one outside. She tracked him mercilessly, flinging grenades into the space he hid and crying something he couldn't hear well enough to decipher. Did it really matter? Clubs let her flush him out, using it to his advantage as he back-tracked, slung himself over the hood of the jeep, and landed a shot to her sternum. She dropped like a stone; Clubs smirked in satisfaction. If she was wearing her armour it wouldn't kill her, he'd been too far away to give the bullet that kind of impact. But it _would_ slow her down, hopefully enough to let him do this stupid job and get out of this place. The fire had really taken root, scouring the insides of the building with a ferocity that made him want to exit this place fast, bounty in tow.

Leaving the woman where she fell, Clubs jogged off into the smoke haze and the fire, deadset on returning to his mission. He didn't look back, arguably foolish for a marked man. Fortunately for him it didn't matter; Hearts lay where she'd fallen, a leg twisted under her body and arms splayed, her face slack and no longer bearing the enraged scowl. A deep hole in her chest was the centrepiece to a ruined uniform, her blood-red clothing a match for the liquid that now oozed from the injury.

Hearts _hadn't _been wearing armour. The shot from Clubs was calibrated to kill a cyborg – it had done exactly that.

**X X X**

Grumbling to himself about outdated cyborg models and the uselessness of having a flamethrower on a _strike_ team when they were so hard to transport, Diamonds dragged the unconscious forms of 006 and 008 into the street. They were tightly bound at the ankles, knees, wrists and elbows, primed for being stored in sacks or something equally mundane to keep civilians or other assassins from spying them. Ordinary people were worthless, but they weren't supposed to be killed – Black Ghost didn't like his agents racking up pointless, unprofitable deaths or murder charges. As for his direct competition... he'd sacrificed taking 003 and 004 back from Spades in order to secure these two – if that turned out to be as fruitless as the rest of this difficult assignment, heads were going to roll.

He could hear sirens down the road, a sign that legal authorities were going to arrive any minute. Knowing that his time and options were limited, he contemplated stealing the black jeep from Clubs for all of thirty seconds – but he had seen Hearts do _something_ to it, he wasn't taking chances.

Her bike on the other hand...

Leaving 006 and 008 for a moment, Diamonds darted over to inspect it carefully. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with it, which he expected – Hearts wouldn't have dared to compromise this baby. Activating the control pad, he kept an eye on his bounty as he gave the machine new commands. She'd be upset he stole her transport, sure, but he didn't care.

Three and a half minutes later, he was driving down the street in a car typical of the city, his bounty stuffed into the trunk. Finally, pay-day had arrived.

**X X X**

He'd seen the exchange between Spades and Diamonds; seen Spades vanish with _his_ comrades in hand.

He'd seen Diamonds shout with rage and take off after him, no Acceleration at hand but a furious tenacity that was probably just as effective.

He'd heard 008's broadcast that they'd found a way out – he hadn't been privy to the original plan, so didn't know exactly which exit was being referred to, but it didn't matter. "Get out," he'd answered, breaking into a run that carried in the same vague direction as Spades and Diamonds had gone.

"_002?"_

Jet didn't bother to confirm, too busy with manipulating 008's original message in an attempt to pinpoint the cyborg's location. Was he alone? Probably not. "Take whoever's with you, and get _out_," he repeated, feet turning towards what his system said was the source. "We're outnumbered." He hated the idea of retreating and always had, but how could they possibly scrape a victory out of this? The _only_ team members he could account for were himself and 008. There were four professional assassins after them and they'd done an excellent job in taking less than a day to cull their targets from nine to two. He hoped like hell that 008 did have 006 with him, making it a possible three. A weak number, but enough to survive... somehow.

It was then that Jet realised he hadn't been answered. "008?" he questioned. Nothing. "_008!_"

Shit, shit _shit_.

He arrived at the location that 008 had supposedly broadcast from and there was not a person in sight. A mangled jeep was to one side, a burning pile of tyres was not too far away from it. He could pick out the occasional boot print in the fallen ash and soot, but nothing of use. _Nothing of use._

More frustrated, scared and hypertensive than he had ever been in his life, Jet instinctively turned to the only thing that seemed to give him field advantage – flight. His boosters flared to life despite system warnings that he was critically low on fuel. He flew straight upwards, mindful of of the fact that the roof had begun to give in to the fire, and immediately set to scanning the floor below.

One, two – _two_ lifeforms? That was _all?_Jet's blood chilled as he considered whether that meant Spades had already killed 003 and 004. Sick bastard.

There was a crack overhead, a sheet of metal tearing itself from the ceiling. Jet banked to the left, only to find himself uncomfortably close to one of the upper level gangways. Twisting to avoid slamming into it as the roof piece sailed past, his boosters gave out at the same moment. Thrust gone he dropped – pure reflex was the only thing that kept him from falling eight metres to the concrete ground. A hand snatched out, catching the metal railing of the gangway he'd nearly crashed into. He hung there for a precarious moment, thinking that now would be a _really_ good time for a teammate to pull him back up.

But it was just him until he found the others – because he _would_ find them and _would_ save them – so Jet grabbed the rail with his other hand and hoisted himself up. He landed safely on the upper level but dropped to his knees immediately, teeth clenched as his pain sensors, thoroughly overloaded, gave out completely. His feet ached fiercely but it was his side, where Diamonds had shot him that was the real problem. Jet hissed as he pressed his palm to the wound in hopes of stabilising the searing pain. Blood leaked between his fingers, staining them and forming tiny little ribbons that trickled down the back of his hand. Jet didn't watch, didn't care to look – a far more pressing problem had just graced the top of the nearest stairs.

The Assassin of Spades.

The black and white uniform was one that he hadn't seen up close until now. It covered his body from wrist to neck to ankle in uneven patches. The only sign of his namesake was a white spade on the left shoulder, surrounded by black fabric that reached down to the elbow. Despite the haphazard pattern it was clear that he was supremely fit, lean muscle outlining his frame that was less narrow than Diamonds, but wiry all the same. His hair was a thick black and cropped close to his skull like a year-old buzz cut. He was also clean shaven, making it easy to see the twisted smirk that Jet wanted to tear off. Pitch black eyes studded his bleach white complexion, and they glinted evilly in the light of the fire below.

Heavy military boots clinked against the metal as he approached, taking his time. Jet dearly wanted to stand but wasn't stable enough to do so – he settled for lifting into a half-kneel, much like the stance Albert adopted when launching a missile from his leg.

If he was about to meet his maker, he wasn't going to kneel like a coward.

"A bit late, aren't you?" Jet challenged, his voice annoyingly hoarse.

Spades smirked, pulling his laser pistol from the holster at his waist as he came to a stop only a few feet from Jet. "I was preoccupied," he answered lazily, "004 is a bit of a handful."

Fueled by ire, Jet forced himself to both feet. His hand didn't leave his side, he swayed uneasily, but held himself up out of sheer force of will. "You murderous bastard," he spat, "I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Spades snorted, checking to make sure his pistol was fully charged. "A bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"Don't you _dare -_"

"Excuse me," Spades interrupted. Without waiting for Jet's consent he took his attention off the redheaded cyborg, eyes narrow as he studied the warehouse floor through the smoke. Lifting his weapon, he fired one clean shot.

Eight metres below, twenty metres away, a pace from stairs that would take him to the upper level, Clubs collapsed with a bullet through his head.

Satisfied, Spades turned back to Jet, whose eyes were as wide as saucers. "You were saying something stupid?" he prompted, fiddling with the sensors of his weapon.

"Who the _fuck_ are you."

Spades grinned, lifting the laser pistol towards Jet, who held his ground and scowled to keep himself from flinching. "I'm an assassin, boy," he answered, and squeezed the trigger.

Jet tried to dodge; he wasn't fast enough. His shoulder stung on impact, a feeling that quickly blossomed across his body. His legs gave out and he dropped back to the floor, knees first, back second, head last.

The world went dark, and all Jet could think was that he hadn't quite imagined dying to be like this.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	12. Hostile

**Four Aces**

**#11: Hostile**

**X X X**

"This didn't exactly go according to plan," he confessed, the only speaker in a tense and silent room.

Seated parallel with one sleeve rolled to the elbow, Francoise kept her eyes on the floor of the Dolphin's infirmary as she nodded mutely to acknowledge his words. She couldn't look at him; she might forgive him then, and it was too early for that. Even if she could hear the honesty in his voice, the naive edge that said he really thought he had been trying to do what was best, that didn't mean she wasn't angry with him.

Even after brief telepathic persuasion from Ivan, it had been hard to believe that climbing down that ladder, waiting for Albert and boarding the Dolphin together would lead them to safety, to the ghosts of comrades... who weren't comrades at all but _liars_. She wondered, for a moment, if Ivan had told anyone else the things he'd told her.

The prick of a needle touched her inner elbow, and Francoise exhaled to let the pain pass. She'd had thousands of needles in her time as a Cyborg, flinching from them was silly. It withdrew soon enough and he pressed a bit of cotton wool to the fresh wound, taping it there with nimble fingers.

"That should help with the headache," he told her, and this time his voice had an extra warmth to it that said he wanted his efforts to be validated by her – but that wasn't why she looked up. How had he known? She'd mentioned it en route to the MEAT, but not since – and certainly not to _him. _

Perhaps sensing the silent question, Joe Shimamura shrugged awkwardly. "I know you," he said and after a pause, spun the chair away.

Francoise let him go, sighing unhappily to herself. It was then that Albert caught her eye, his weak grin transcending the fact that an eleven-year-old boy was unscrewing his hand from his wrist. A sharp wince derailed him, accompanied by the metallic click of success.

"Sorry," Ivan murmured, Albert's metal hand now in his hold. "I'm not as good as the Doctor was, not yet."

"But you are the same height," Albert countered, the weak grin returning.

"For the moment," Ivan conceded with a friendly look, loading new ammunition into the hand. Albert could do it in a pinch, but it also afforded Ivan the opportunity to check it was functioning properly. This left Albert waiting impatiently – he couldn't reload his leg missiles with just one hand.

Francoise watched absently as Ivan completed his work, re-attaching the hand briskly with minimal complaint from Albert. It was strange... two days ago, everything had been normal. Then Black Ghost came thundering back into their lives and until half an hour ago, she'd been absolute in the belief that Ivan was dead, a youth slaughtered by the enemy in cold blood for the purpose of money. She'd thought the same about Joe, yet both of them stood in the _exact same room_ as her, without a scratch on them.

Her hands curled, scrunching the fabric of her singed uniform. Standing, Francoise set her eyes firmly on the Infirmary's exit. "Excuse me," she said softly, as her mother had taught so long ago.

Albert and Joe looked to her with concern, Ivan merely nodded. "Be sure to stay on the ship, 003."

Francoise nodded and swept towards the door before anyone chose to stop her. One foot beyond the threshold, she froze as her sensors tuned to activity nearby. "We're not alone," she relayed, capturing the attention of her comrades instantly. "Definitely a cyborg – the signature is large, but ..." she trailed off, eyes closed as she recalled an earlier experience. "It's two cyborgs," she finished. "That's him, isn't it."

Joe let out a soft breath, setting down the medical kit he'd been fiddling with. "I hope so," he answered tiredly and side-stepped Francoise to greet the intruder, leaving the infirmary with a laser pistol in hand.

**X X X**

In the last months of Dr. Gilmore's life, Albert had hastened to learn everything he could from the man who had fine-tuned his design and function as a cyborg. Ivan, Francoise and Jet had done the same – after all, their architecture was fundamentally different to the rest of the 00 Team. Even then, amongst the four of them there were subtly unique differences between each design; only minor in nature but dangerous if you didn't know what you were doing. Watching as Joe and Spades laid out Jet's limp form on a medical bed (amidst the fiesty declaration from Spades that he was stunned, not dead), Albert hoped that Jet had listened to what he'd been taught, or else the recovery period was going to take far longer than they had time for.

Joe and Spades retreated to give Ivan room for checking Jet's vitals, but the youth stopped before he even began. "Did you _handcuff_ him?" he asked, looking to the assassin intently.

"When's the last time _you_ had to move a hostile?" Spades shot back, arms folded tightly over his chest.

"He's _unconscious_," Albert said.

"What I use is graded for humans, not cyborgs. He could've been out for thirty seconds, or thirty minutes," was the caustic answer. "Maybe you like stupid risks, I don't."

Joe groaned lightly. "Where are the keys?"

Spades shook his head, refusing to submit so easily. "Forget it," he said, "You'll do the stupid thing of letting him free before he's awake. _Great_ idea, captain, put us all in the firing line."

"Spades," Joe repeated, trying to use as much patience as he could, "give me the keys."

"Or what, you'll fire me?" Spades grinned tauntingly. "I don't think so."

Francoise looked to Joe. "He's working for you?" she asked carefully.

Spades answered for him. "I'm contracted to keep your collective asses alive – the minute the lot of you are rounded up and safe, game's over and I'm out." He shrugged, as if to disclaim the ugly reality. "It's good money."

Joe shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the incredulous stare of his teammates and had nothing to say in defense.

Francoise bit her lip. "But the others -"

"Right, because I could successfully keep all of you out of Black Ghost's hands, all at once," Spades said, the sarcasm rough in his voice, "I'm not _superman_, just better than you."

Francoise's eyes narrowed, lips pursed thinly. She said nothing more, though it was clear to everyone that she didn't like him at all.

"Was it really a good idea to hire a Black Ghost assassin for a job like this?" Albert asked, looking to Joe. Spades immediately looked displeased with the fact he was being talked _about_, rather than _to_.

Joe smiled wanly, but it was Ivan who spoke. "What does 008 always say the first rule of guerilla warfare is?"

"If you have no weapons... take the enemy's weapons."

"Glad I'm so _useful_."

Joe glanced to the sour cyborg, but returned his attention to Albert. "I've been aware of the four assassins for a while now," he explained, "I knew that Black Ghost wasn't going to leave us alone forever. I had to be prepared for when they did come for us. When I learnt that the hunt was on, I found Spades and made him an offer. Spades has a notorious reputation as the superior model, as a killer..." Joe paused in time for Spades to grumble something obscene, then continued. "But there's discrepancies. He is excellent at what he does – he's _not_ so good at bringing back bodies."

There was a pause.

"You _faked_ your jobs?" Albert asked, looking at Spades in genuine surprise.

Spades snorted in clear disgust. "Thanks a lot, 'boss'. Now look at the work I've gotta' do to fix _that_."

"Either way," Ivan said, setting Jet's singed and bloodied uniform shirt to the side, "It was something that could be used to our advantage."

"Did you know about this?" Albert asked, looking to the youth. Behind his question lay a deeper, more important one – Joe's moves, although cunning and for the greater good, also contained a fundamental betrayal of trust. If Ivan had been a part of it as well... that would have a serious impact on team morale.

"Not in advance," came the distracted answer as he checked the wound on Jet's waist, "I knew something was strange when he came for me, but I didn't know the full extent until we rendezvoused with Joe." Straightening, Ivan motioned for Francoise to come closer – she did so without question, keen to help their fallen comrade.

"Why didn't you tell us?" she asked Joe, "We thought -"

"This is why team mates are stupid," Spades scorned. Francoise jumped, having almost forgotten he was there and certainly not expecting him to speak. He ignored it, steamrolling on. "Can't have dead targets walking around in plain sight, now can you? Why do you think _I_ was at that warehouse? Welcome party of one. "

"You didn't act like it," Francoise defended, her eyes glittering with suppressed anger. She didn't want to make a scene, it wasn't in her nature to embrace confrontation – but she wasn't going to allow Spades to underestimate her.

"Do you know _anything_ about double agents? You knowing would've given the whole game away. Black Ghost will know _now,_ of course, but that's fine by me."

"So what will you do?" Albert asked, trying to intersect the growing conflict for Francoise's sake. His question was valid anyway; going back to Black Ghost after a betrayal was the fast-track to getting yourself killed and melted down for scrap.

"Finish this job, find the next one." Spades shrugged at this. "I have clients outside the Organisation; if Black Ghost sends anyone after me, I'll kill them."

Despite the revelation that he was not the assassin they imagined him to be, no-one questioned his resolve in that statement.

A tense silence followed, Ivan and Francoise working swiftly whilst Jet's unconscious state kept him compliant. Joe returned to the chair he had occupied earlier; after surrendering the handcuff keys Spades busied himself by poking through a number of the infirmary drawers, motivated by reasons he didn't care to share. Albert finished reloading himself and slipped off the medical bed with a declaration that he would be up on the main deck, taking the Dolphin out to sea. Joe might have considered following, but clearly felt obligated to 'babysit' Spades, lest he cause trouble in the already strained environment. Spades staying in the infirmary was unwise, but asking him to leave would open a can of worms that no-one wanted to be ensnared by.

It wasn't long before the Dolphin's engines began to thrum and gurgle around them, a distant sound but comforting in that it reinforced one thing: they were going somewhere safe, even if it was nowhere in particular. The relief would only be temporary – if not completely derailed when Jet regained consciousness and found their company included a former enemy – and they all knew that. But there were lives to save, comrades who would not be abandoned regardless of Black Ghost's efforts.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	13. Friendly Fire

**Four Aces**

**#12: Friendly Fire**

**X X X**

It was him, the low hum of the engines, the glow of the dashboard and the deep waters of the Mediterranean Sea. He was the only cyborg on the main deck, a rare event but on this occasion, one Albert was grateful for. It gave him room to think, something he needed if he was going to stay focused on this mission. With one hand loose on a control stick, the other was propped under his chin to support his slouch over the dash. The _Dolphin's_ navigation system was set to autopilot for the moment, guiding them westwards to the Atlantic and the turn-in co-ordinates Spades had been given by Black Ghost at the start of the hunt.

What a bizarre turn of events.

Although 009 had been quite adamant about the fact that Spades was an ally, for Albert that did not make him any less of a threat. Spades was not just a cyborg, he was an assassin: a cyborg created not to infiltrate and wreak havoc, but to _murder_. The fact he had broken free of Black Ghost's conditioning to distinguish between mindless kills and paid contracts was remarkable; the level of independent thought was not something Albert had anticipated. But it remained disconcerting - he knew that the assassin was only here for the money 009 had promised him. Once that was paid and the contract was fulfilled, what would stop Spades from resuming Black Ghost's contract? Complete disposal of the 00 Team was one of the rare things in this world that might grant Spades clemency for his rebellious actions.

If things did turn out that way, Albert wasn't convinced that the team could go through all of this again. The pressure, the fear in every breath, sleeping with one eye open and constant exhaustion... for ten years the team had been able to live free of Black Ghost.

Hadn't they?

Now, Albert wondered if they had been as free as he had always thought. The phone call from 002 had thrown him head-first into combat mode - the frightened undertone of their cross-continent conversation was permanently etched into his memory. Poor kid. Much of the early cyborg days had featured 009 trumping 002 again and again, never deliberately but always successfully - here, it was happening all over again. 002 had reached his limits trying to save his team-mates when he hadn't truly needed to. The rest of them had done much the same thing, putting everything they had into staying one step ahead of the enemy that was in truth, trying to protect them.

As maddening and frustrating as that was, Albert could not hate 009 for it. The boy had held his cards close to his chest, played them at the perfect time and been rewarded with keeping five cyborgs out of Black Ghost's grasp. If things in the warehouse had gone differently, the team might have been seven-strong. ... Or three-strong, if he and 003 had been abducted like they thought they would be. He hadn't yet had the opportunity to talk to 009 about everything, nor to find out if there had been a contingency. Until he knew everything, Albert wasn't ready to forgive 009 either. If he'd been behind the scenes all along, he _could _have warned one or two of them - enough to stay under the radar, enough for them to be prepared and on the front foot for the assassin's assault. Maybe he'd just run out of time, or maybe he _had _toldsomeone and that was why 001 had gone to 002 first.

Albert sighed glumly and reached to switch the autopilot off. He didn't _need _to, but it would give him something to do other than sit around and let himself become angry. His hand was on the switch when the faint echo of boots on steel touched his ears - someone was approaching the main deck. His system immediately suggested an identity scan, but he ignored it. The newcomer would announce themselves.

Sure enough, the echo grew louder then faded as the arrival stepped onto the main deck. Albert listened to the squeak of his boots and the slow gait, until a soft sigh and the creak of chair hinges announced that the arrival had sat down.

"You should get some rest," Albert said.

"I think she hates me," 009 declared. The lack of preamble and the heavy misery in his voice told Albert the precise reason he was up here - absolution. That was not something Albert intended to provide, but comfort... that, he could do.

"003? She doesn't know how to hate," Albert answered, abandoning the dashboard to swing his chair around. The _Dolphin _sailed on, unconcerned with the activities of her passengers. "She's upset, we went through a lot to get where we are."

009 wore a small frown. "And you?"

"I don't hate you either. I'm actually kind of impressed," Albert grinned, but he sobered quickly. "Spades is a hell of a trump card, if it works. It's 002 you need to worry about, he went through a lot more than any of us. The team means a lot to him, even if he'd never say it. You should go check on him."

**X X X**

_Critical System Reboot initiated. _

_Query identity._

_Searching database._

_Identity Cyborg 002 estimated 98.17% probability._

_Identity confirmed._

_Body scan commencing._

_Scanning..._

_Scan complete._

_Penetration detected; surface integrity penalised across point nine percent of skin._

_ICHD 5, ICD10 G44.88 detected._

_Estimated pain level four of ten._

_System stability level two of five. _

_Probable scenario #16-A. _

_Commencing System Diagnostic._

_Diagnostic complete._

_Fuel critical._

_Estimated flight time at current fuel level 0.000327 seconds._

_Flight mode success rate 0.52%._

_Flight mode not recommended._

_Acceleration mode success rate 0.10%._

_Acceleration mode not recommended._

_Combat success rate 3.65%._

_Combat not recommended._

_Hostile sweep recommended._

_Defence mode recommended._

_Query visual system activation._

_Visual system activated._

_Defence mode activated._

**X X X**

_Scenario #16-A._

Jet opened his eyes and found himself staring at a brightly lit but unfamiliar ceiling. He was immediately aware of the dull ache that resonated through his entire body, the throbbing between his temples and a much sharper pain on his side. His internal system, still running background checks identified a steady electronic beep sounded from overhead, and Jet realised that it was his heart rhythm sounding from a monitor. Medical equipment... not his favourite thing.

_Scenario #16-A._

He tilted his head stiffly, his archaic software conducting rapid measurements of the ceiling area and the height to the floor. The specifications were run against a short database of the various medical facilities he'd been in since his pre-Cyborg abduction - even factoring in a margin of error, the room's dimensions matched only one possibility: the _Dolphin_.

_Recalculating scenario._

_Probable scenario #13-B._

Well, that was marginally better. He was on familiar territory, though it was hijacked. Great.

"You reboot pretty fast for an archaic model."

Although curious in tone rather than sinister, that was not a voice he had heard before - but where had it come from? His scan hadn't shown any life-forms... Oh. _Jet, you're a dumbass. _was a doorway a few metres away, parallel with his bed. His scan had been limited to the dimensions of the room, not what might be an inch beyond it. He groaned out loud at the oversight and glanced across, the motion passive simply because he had no advantage. He was weak, injured, and probably restricted - however much he wanted to be aggressive, that was for when his situation had greater prospects.

The moment his sight fell on Spades, slouching in the doorway, that policy was thrown on its head. Jet scrabbled to heave himself up, throwing the infirmary blanket off, several sensors dislodged in the process. One machine began beeping shrilly, alarmed by the change in the sensors and Jet's rising blood pressure.

"What -"

Jet didn't get to finish, the _click _of an armed laser pistol interrupting him as Spades levelled it at his nemesis. "You're on-board the _Dolphin_," he was told, the assassin calm and even as he spoke.

"Yeah, you hijacked it!" They were no doubt en route to a Black Ghost base right now, was there anyone else on board? There were no other 00's here in the infirmary -

"Nope," Spades answered, "Actually -"

"Shut up," Jet snarled, "Shut up you sick bastard!"

Spades took a step forward into the infirmary, gun aloft as his face darkened. "Didn't your mother teach you to be polite to your guests?"

"Captor!" Jet corrected rashly. The threat of Spades approaching had derailed his plans to stand, so perched on the edge of the bed he hunkered like a cornered beast, fingers tightly curled in the fabric of the blanket. His system was demanding another scenario recalculation, which he ignored fiercely.

"Where are the others?"

"Which ones, there's _nine _of you."

"No, there _was _of us, before you started to murder them. Why not me too, hm? Had the perfect shot in that warehouse." For that matter, he had actually been shot - but by what? A paralytic, a stunner?

Spades rolled his eyes, the pistol never wavering. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have. - Actually, I tell a lie. If I wanted to get fired, I'd kill you, but I'd rather have the money."

"Why would Black Ghost want me alive?" Jet demanded, leg twitching with the suppressed urge to . He was one of the oldest models, to select him over the others betrayed all of Jet's reasoning.

"Are the other Archaics as dense as you? You're on the fucking _Dolphin, _patched up and everything, even if you still look like hell. You think Black Ghost, or any of his employees would bother with that? They'd tie your head to your ankles and have a good long laugh about how you were the easy one to capture."

Jet had no answer to that, though it did occur to him that Spades was not too far from bragging himself. Instead he put a hand to his temple, acutely aware of the fierce pounding in his head. It had been had before, but the rush to get up and having to deal with this scum hadn't helped things at all. Distractedly he threw a look to his pillow, wondering if going back to sleep was such a bad idea.

"You're going to pass out," Spades told him, "I'll make this fast. My mission right now is to keep everyone on this ship safe and in one piece, even though you're suicidal morons. My mission includes the whole damn team, which unfortunately includes you."

Jet stared, uncomprehendingly.

Spades lowered the free pistol, hand going to his ear. "Boss, you coming by at any time? He's gonna pass out again - or should I just kill him instead?"

"I'm right here, Spades," 009 answered, stepping into the infirmary with 004 in tow. "Put your pistol away."

Jet immediately felt like throwing up instead.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	14. Chain Reaction

**Four Aces**

**#13: Chain Reaction**

**X X X**

Fighting back a wave of nausea Jet shut his eyes tightly, violently oppose to what – _whom –_ he had just seen. Here was his comrade, back from the dead without a goddamn _scratch_ on him, acting like this assassin was an equal. This – all of it – had been a ruse? Had he been the only one to not know? Had they _deliberately_ avoided telling him?

Head pounding, a sheen of cold sweat on his skin, Jet swallowed hard. His suppressed fight-or-flight instinct was roaring to the frontline, and flight was winning.

At the icy touch of Albert's metallic hand to his shoulder, Jet nearly jumped out of his skin. Eyes snapping open they locked onto the German fiercely, calling forth every ounce of defiance and independence he had learnt on New York streets.

Albert returned the look with a serene stare of his own, unaffected by the glare he'd been subjected to so many times in the past. "You did well," he said, "Better than any of us."

"For all the good it did us," Jet muttered, "How long were _you_ in on it?" There was no change in the other man's expression but he felt the tension in Albert's hand and clenched his jaw, determined to stand by the question.

"I wasn't," Albert told him sharply, "003 and I were following your instructions."

_003. _"Where is she?" Jet asked, scanning the infirmary to be sure he hadn't missed her. "I lost track of you in the warehouse -"

"Because you ran off, like _always_," Albert interrupted, frowning.

"I don't like your field tactics," Jet shot back, his scowl made worse by the cuts and bruises on his face. "Where is 003?"

"She's around, somewhere..." Joe put in, drawing Jet's attention back to him. The younger cyborg was standing awkwardly near the threshold, clearly wary of moving deeper into hostile territory.

"What does that even _mean_?"

There was a squeak of metal as Spades helped himself to a stool along the far wall. "I didn't kill her," he said with a smirk, "If that's what you're asking. See a corpse anywhere?"

"_Spades,_" Joe warned.

"Legitimate question, boss," the black and white figure shrugged.

_Boss._ The word echoed in his head, shock washing over him as the gravity of the situation set in.

Jet saw red.

"I've busted my ass thinking you're _dead_ and he _killed you _and you let me?" he demanded loudly, shrugging away from Albert's hand, "You've been _alive – _alive! – this whole time," Jet continued, pulling the IV with a wince, "And you didn't think I might need to know that? That somehow it might make a fucking difference? What the hell were you supposed to achieve? A funeral that you could come to and laugh at us, then say 'oh, I forgot to mention I'm not dead'? Or what about some warning, so your employee doesn't decide to _shoot me_ instead of a standard extraction?" Here he yanked the remaining sensors away from his skin, took a breath and steeled himself for standing, fully aware of the impending nerve pain that would arrive when he did.

In the silence Joe didn't answer, but in a quick glance Jet could see that he was paler than usual, jaw tight, shoulders tense and fists curled as the kid fought back a response. He felt a rush of satisfaction, and slipped off the edge of the mattress.

It was this moment that Spades chose to speak, though the first of his words were drowned out by screaming nerve ends and the dozens of alerts that Jet's system threw at him. He clung to the edge of the bed to steady himself, forcing himself to stay aware of the assassin cyborg at all costs.

"- the last quarry you chased, hm? Did it happen to be a _flea_, who jumps entire continents in the time it'd take for standard aircraft to cross a country? You're a fast little shit when you wanna be, and _he_ had to stay undercover. You know, that thing you do to _protect_ people so they don't get _killed_."

"If you think I trust you enough to believe any of what you said," Jet gasped out, "Think again."

He had fast realised that the choice to stand was a bad one – but he wasn't about to ask for help to reverse it. Joe had sunk his face into a palm, either ignoring them or praying, whilst Spades slouched on his stool, watching with an intent scowl.

Albert sighed, taking a step forward to help. "That was stupid," he said, not unkindly. Jet growled warningly.

"002!" Francoise slipped past Joe, the thick tension of the small room having no apparent effect on her as she dashed across to him, hands landing on his shoulders. Unlike Albert's her touch was warm and gentle, one that only kind people had. "What are you doing up?"

Jet didn't answer, pouring all his concentration into staying upright. The earlier urge to pass out had returned to him; now his head throbbed painfully and the world was out of focus. He heard someone give an order to leave, but he couldn't figure out whose voice it was. There wasn't much time to think about it, Francoise's light voice cutting through the fuzziness.

"Lie down, 002, or you'll hurt yourself even more."

He obeyed because it was the only thing to do, the only move that made sense. He inhaled sharply as the weight was lifted from his feet, nerves going haywire all over again. The mattress seemed like an impossibly high thing to climb back up upon, but a metal grip on his shoulder spoke of Albert's aid. The man's winter complexion swam back into focus, but a silver gleam to the far side caught Jet's attention instead.

Francoise approached carefully, needle in hand. "This will help you sleep some more," she told him, reaching for his wrist.

"I know it's hard to trust right now," Albert told him, moving out of Francoise's way, "Spades isn't harmless, but I think 009 made a good call -"

_Click._

Spades was standing where Albert had been, a hand around Francoise's wrist. Frozen with shock on her face Francoise didn't move; Jet tried to sit up in the name of defence. Albert muttered something in German, but didn't intervene.

"You sedate him now," the assassin warned, "We can't use him in the mission. He'll be vulnerable, which is the same as being useless. You may as well put a ribbon on his head and send him straight to Black Ghost."

"But he needs rest, which he would have gotten if you hadn't been here!"

_I will take care of it._

In the wake of Ivan's message, a warm wave of sleep washed over him. Jet felt the pain fading to the very recesses of his mind, and things no longer seemed so out of control. It wasn't what he had desired but a murmur of thanks escaped him anyway, his tension and panic filtering away to nothing.

_Sleep, 002. I will explain it to you when you wake._

**X X X**

Chang tested his weight, bouncing on the balls of his feet tentatively. His gauge, a small electronic reader in the corner of his left eye flickered between 44% and 45% capacity, which he'd expected. The walls of his cell and the tall metal door were a sooty black, the residue of his ineffective escape attempts. Clearly, the cell was designed for him.

It was only after his latest assault on the fire-proofed door that Chang noticed the damage done to the floor. He'd examined it closely to his delight, found that for all Black Ghost's efforts in ensuring he wouldn't escape through walls, they'd forgotten about the floor. A plain limestone, it was something he'd be able to burn through easily.

But what way to go? He could try to escape on his own, but that meant leaving team members behind. Chang wasn't sure how many 00-cyborgs Black Ghost had acquired from the warehouse, but he refused to be selfish when others were in danger too. So that meant he had to figure out where the others were from here... and how could he do that? His com-link had been disabled, so radioing anyone was out of the question. He wasn't 001, so telepathy wasn't possible either. Oh, how useful telepathy would be right then...

No – lamenting over others would be of no help. He had to help using himself, which meant he had to pick a direction and bore through the floor with his fuel reserves. So, how was he going to do it?

After much deliberation and weighing of what others in his team would do, Chang came to something he had learnt from the children of his restaurant employees. He moved to the center of the cell, drawing in a deep breath. With every ounce of volume he could muster, the stout man bellowed, "_MARCO!_"

Silence followed; Chang listened acutely.

Then - so muffled he almost didn't hear it -

"Polo."

That was 005, on the other side of the right wall. Chang's spirits soared, and he set to work.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	15. Rescue

**Four Aces**

**#14: Rescue**

**X X X**

Geronimo sat on the edge of the concrete slab intended to be a bed, his gaze locked to the floor. He and Chang had played a rather lengthy game of Marco Polo to see if any other cyborgs would join in, but also to determine how far apart their cells were. After a time, Chang had stopped responding. Unsure if that meant Chang was doing something or if a guard had decided the game should end, Geronimo had elected to wait and see if anything more would happen. Attempting to break down his door would be pointless – he had already determined that it was specifically engineered to counteract his strength.

It didn't feel like long before he'd felt the heat of the floor under his boots. Geronimo had retreated to the bed, keen to stay out of the way of the source. There he sat, watching as the rough, rocky floor of his cell developed a small red glow near the right hand wall. He knew perfectly well what it was – and his spirits soared when a good five minutes later, a spout of flame broke through the top layer of rock and a round little head followed.

"Sorry about the delay," Chang said cheerily, puffing a bit of extra flame from the side of his mouth, "I had to make the tunnel wider, or else you'll never fit!"

**X X X**

It had been two hours since Ivan had put Jet out, and Francoise's back was starting to ache. Clearly, these infirmary stools were not designed for comfort. Stretching to ease stiff muscles, she glanced about the scarcely occupied infirmary. Quietly, she was relieved that however good those assassins were, they couldn't sneak up on her. Black Ghost had not given her much in exchange for stealing her mortality, her freedom and her life, but the radar kept those around her safe – to Francoise, that was more useful than flight, embedded artillery, superhuman strength or breathing fire. She could never be jealous of her teammates and their abilities.

But what did you do, when you were alone in the face of danger and your abilities weren't enough? Did you turn to someone stronger than you, deadlier than everyone? Francoise didn't know what to think of Joe's choice in alliance – but she _did_ know that she didn't trust Spades an ounce.

With a soft shake of the head – this was not an alley of thought she wanted to go down – Francoise returned to the old cross-stitch she'd dug out of her bunk room, her hand unconsciously moving in time with the beeps from one of Jet's monitors. The complexity of the pattern distracted her, and helped to block out the conference between her comrades, two floors overhead.

She paused to thread a new colour, and a fresh sound came to her ears. Tense, she listened acutely. Everyone was supposed to be upstairs, discussing what to do next – her medical experience and reluctance in conflict were her reasons for avoiding the others, but who else had gotten away?

When she realised who it was, the hand supporting the needlework frame tightened, knuckles whitening. "You shouldn't be here," Francoise said softly, sliding the newly threaded needle into the weave of her cross-stitch and leaving it there. She wasn't going to get any work done while Spades was here.

"When did you sense me?" the black-haired man asked, leaning against the door frame of the infirmary in clear violation of her warning.

"I can hear and sense everyone onboard the _Dolphin_, whenever I want to," she answered without ego, refusing to look at him.

"And when you don't," Spades added, and where she lacked arrogance, he had plenty of it in every syllable. Francoise said nothing to this, her eyes narrowing slightly in distaste as it occurred to her that he'd know such things from her file. It was probably also where he got that irritating term, '_Archaic'_ from.

Setting the cross-stitch on the end of Jet's bed, Francoise took a breath and twisted to look at Spades from over her shoulder. "What do you want?"

Spades had his attention on Jet, though he remained in the doorway. "He really flipped out before, didn't he?" he asked, with a curiosity that struck Francoise as reminiscent of a child.

Francoise, already on her guard, didn't like the question. "Why would you care? What does it mean to you?"

The smug grin he flashed did nothing to put her at ease. "His temper is a weakness. I survive by knowing that," Spades told her, with a small shrug.

"You enjoy it," she accused. Someone so cold and ruthless... he must have fit right in with Black Ghost.

"No choice," Spades told her, a finger tapping his temple. "I can like it, or drive myself mad by hating it, like Hearts. The engineers limited our range of emotions – makes a cyborg better."

Francoise couldn't fathom being stripped like that. "Emotions, feelings – they're part of your humanity!"

Spades snorted derisively. "I have _always_ killed for money. How human do you really think I am?" he asked, arms now folded tightly across his chest.

"Don't you hate Black Ghost for what they turned you into? What they did to your body?" It was a mass violation – and here he talked like it was all inevitable, or insignificant!

"Maybe," Spades shrugged, unaffected by her disbelief, "But unlike you, I volunteered to have this done."

**X X X**

Even though five of them had eluded the grasp of their enemy and they had a powerful ally, with four of their comrades taken down by assassins it was clear that for the moment, Black Ghost still had the upperhand. For the remainder of the 00-team, it came naturally that the next step was to bust their comrades out.

The strategy meeting had been an eerie affair, overseen by the murky waters of the Atlantic ocean and attended by three deeply exhausted soldiers. 004 was yet to rest since coming on board, he knew that 009 hadn't slept properly since leaving Japan, and for Ivan, the effort of taming 002's emotions long enough to send the man to sleep had left him counting down the minutes until he could do the same for himself. None of them had questioned 003's decision to stay below with 002 in the infirmary, whilst Spades had plainly ignored the invitation to help them devise a strategy.

Coupling the assassin's absence with his personal habit of trailing the emotional levels of those near him, Ivan had been aware of the tense conversation between his comrades for some time now. Knowing the damage that Spades could do to someone with fragile beliefs like 003's, he had quietly (tiredly) excused himself from the strategy meeting.

Closer to the Infirmary, Ivan was thankful for his timing. It seemed that 003 had been stunned into silence by Spades volunteering for Black Ghost's cyborg program. Making a personal note to contextualize it for her and the others later, he cleared his throat. "You were asked to stay away from here, Spades."

"Meeting over?" came the pert response.

Ivan knew better than to take the bait, keeping his pace even as he approached the Infirmary doorway, where Spades still stood. Volatile soldiers were not unfamiliar to him. "Please return to where the others are. We have a lot to organise if there's any hope of setting our friends free."

The hard look in Spades' eye was one that Ivan read easily. He held his ground though, knowing that although Spades wanted to ignore the request, the cyborg liked to pick his fights. On the _Dolphin_, he had no advantages.

As Ivan side-stepped him to enter the Infirmary, Spades rolled his eyes, pushed away from the doorframe, and exited down the hallway. Immediately relieved that no conflict had come to pass, Ivan leveled a weary smile at 003. "I hope he will stay away from here now."

The young-looking woman had risen, fussing with the skirt and sleeves of her uniform to keep her hands busy. "I don't like him," she answered, the wobble in her voice suggesting to Ivan that she'd been deeply disturbed by the exchange, "I wish he didn't have to be an ally."

Ivan wanted to shrug, but avoided doing so – he knew that 003 could be hypersensitive to the body-language of others, and didn't want her thinking that he belittled her. "He is a troubled man, and for that reason he is also a dangerous one. But we must trust in the deal he made with 009."

003 said nothing, gathering her cross-stitch materials and packing them into a dusty pink bag. Ivan watched her for a moment, then nodded towards 002. "He'll be awake soon. Please make sure he joins the others. I am going to rest – I may not be conscious when the time comes to attack," he added cautiously.

003 bit her lip, but nodded. "I will. Sleep well."

**X X X**

With his rear in the air and shoulders-deep in the hole that dominated his cell floor, Chang sincerely hoped that no guard would disturb them. He watched as Geronimo continued to squeeze his way along the tunnel, fretting (and not for the first time) that the gentle giant would get terribly stuck.

"You're blocking the light again," Geronimo told him, grunting as he wriggled along.

"Oops – sorry!" Chang answered, scurrying back from the edge of the hole. He took to pacing instead, doing concentric laps of the cell whilst anxiously waiting for Geronimo to emerge. Finally, the great cyborg's head and shoulders crested the scorched hole – then an arm, and the other arm, and he was hauling himself up into Chang's cell. The stout little man bounced in joy that the first stage of his plan worked, and turned to gesture to the cell door. _This_ one, although fireproof, had not been given the same reinforcement as Geronimo's. "If you'll do the honours?"

Geronimo flexed his arms and moved towards the door, searching for nooks to use as grip. He wasted no time in seizing it and pulling the door from the frame in one clean move. Chang chose that moment to dart out into the hall, giving Geronimo time to turn and set the door awkwardly back into place.

"Well - that saves us time."

Eyes wide, Chang whipped around to see who had spoken, instinctively fearing the worst.

"Just imagine having to search every one of these cells," G.B. said with an airy gesture, elaborating on Pyunma's words. The two cyborgs stood shoulder to shoulder, remnants of their own escape – two half-open cell doors – down the hall behind them. They faced Geronimo and Chang, grins wide and a mischievous glint to their eyes.

"Ready to get out of this place?"

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	16. Charge

**Four Aces**

**#15: Charge**

**X X X**

Francoise glanced to the wall-mounted infirmary clock with a tired sigh.

"_He'll be awake soon_," Ivan had said.

That was thirty minutes ago, and Jet still hadn't opened his eyes. Francoise had abandoned all attempts to complete the cross-stitch, fatigue and anxiety getting the better of her. She hadn't slept since leaving London and although she was capable of running a forty-hour day as a cyborg, almost all of the adrenaline was completely gone from her system.

To help stay awake Francoise had re-dressed Jet's wounds once already, and been pleased to see that the hole in his side was already showing signs of repair. The healing process would not be as swift in him as in others on the team – 009 came to mind – but with any luck, it would be enough to allow him to help in the rescue. Her stomach churned with anxiety every time she considered the fate of the other Cyborgs – the bounty was 'dead or alive', and the Black Ghost was ruthless. There was every possibility that there was no-one left to rescue.

Francoise rubbed at her temple, eyes closed. She was so _tired_ of this, the fear, the fighting and the hiding and the injuries... things had been good, and happy, and a little lonely without the team around but _safe_. If they were as 'Archaic' as that awful man Spades suggested, then why couldn't Black Ghost just leave them _alone_?

In a wave of tiredness she stifled a yawn and bent forward, arms folding to pillow her head. The stool wasn't quite the right height to lean on the end of Jet's bed comfortably, but she was too worn out to care. She didn't plan to sleep, only rest a little, so she could be there when Jet woke.

In less than a minute, Francoise's gentle breathing rhythm matched that of Jet's, the delicate woman fast asleep.

**X X X**

"Cameras Zeta and Sigma on screens three and four, ma'am."

Queen glanced up from her personal array of surveillance and communication equipment, and looked to the front of the room. She was one of the few Black Ghost employees in their seat, with most of the staff scurrying about the room in the frantic fashion typical for subordinates. She ignored them, her half-cyborg gaze focused on the camera feed.

It was only a speck on the horizon, but impossible to miss. The aircraft flew high above the surface of the Atlantic sea, and was approaching them quickly. The _Dolphin,_ undoubtedly.

She pursed her lips. "Raise the defense, and redirect any sanctioned aircraft," she ordered. "We don't need Black Ghost transport to be caught."

"Poles going online," someone toned from nearby.

Zeta and Sigma illustrated the precise meaning of the words. Slowly, impossibly tall thin spikes rose from beneath the water. A few kilometres out from the shore and at least a hundred metres apart, they glistened in the sun. They were Black Ghosts's ultimate defence for their Bermuda base and the cause of more than a few legends around the world. The edge of the Bermuda Triangle was something that humans avoided whenever possible, which made it the perfect place for the Merchants of Death to have a base of operations. It was in their best interest to perpetuate a vicious defence against any unsanctioned approaches to the Island: survivors talked, traded stories, stirred interest.

The poles came to their maximum height. Satisfied, Queen looked back to her switchboard. A dozen lights were lit up, most of them calls from different parts of the base. She ignored them – the beta control room would be handling those right now.

"We can't be sure which Zero-Zero is piloting the blasted thing," she told the room at large, "We take no chances. Tell the ground defence to prepare their cannons."

"If you think that'll stop them," Diamonds drawled from behind her.

Queen twisted to give him an irritated look. The assassin had turned up five minutes ago, cocky like he'd won a grand prize, and insisted on hanging about. She was wary of him – Diamonds was only sociable when it was in his own best interests – but he had been well behaved, so far.

"This is my job," she reminded him tersely, turning back around, "That ship won't land on this island in one piece. Bermuda's defences are superior."

"Sure thing, Queen," Diamonds said, obviously sarcastic.

Queen rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored him. There was a new light on her panel – it blinked green, on-and-off, begging for attention. An external call. Spades? About time he touched base, they needed more information about what happened in the warehouse. The half-cyborg slipped her headset on, and snapped her fingers at the nearest officer. "Open Communications, line three."

"Opening Communications, line three," was the immediate response.

She hit the button. "Comm-Base. That you, Spades?" she asked, with a tilt of the head.

**X X X**

"_That you, Spades?_"

The assassin grinned just a little, and spun in his seat towards the Dolphin's dashboard. He was aware of 004's warning look, but ignored it as he responded. "The one and only. Got my money ready?"

"_You know how it works, Spades_," Queen admonished, "_Proof of kill, then pay. You need to bring in your bounty_." The crackle of her voice echoed around the deck, an awkward reminder that their saviour was a killer.

"Oh, I'm doing that now," he said, not bothering to keep the smugness from his voice. "Can't you see us?"

There was a pause from the other end, and when Queen spoke, her tone was cautious. "_What are your co-ordinates?_"

Spades rolled his eyes. Like Hearts, he'd always been impatient with protocol. "You can _see us_, Queen. Do a bit of trilateration," he said flippantly.

The sigh she gave was deeply annoyed and he grinned again, this time with satisfaction. Queen was such an easy target. She would need placating though, so he pressed on.

"I've got five on board, unconscious, one injured."

"_They aren't dead?_"

"Not yet. You sound surprised."

Another pause, this one much longer than the first. He could hear background murmurs and frowned. "Queen, who's there?" When there was no answer, Spades couldn't help the growl. "_Queen_. Who else is there?"

"_Diamonds_," she answered, a little distractedly.

"Shit." Spades sat up and grabbed for the _Dolphin _controls. 004 and 009 both lunged to stop him, but a well-placed kick sent the German sprawling, and 009 stopped in his tracks to stay out of range.

Spades hit the controls to cut the line between him and Queen and punched the _Dolphin_ into a higher speed. The engines obeyed and if not for the hold he had on the joystick, Spades might have lurched back from the extra kick.

"What's going on?" 004 demanded, heaving himself up with the aid of a pilot chair.

"Diamonds is there. Queen's easy enough to fool. So I bring in live bounty for once, it's just an oddity, yeah? But Diamonds would see right through the charade. The asshole probably already has," Spades added. The sharp, arrogant tone was gone from his voice as he concentrated on flying, replaced with the terse, brief syntax of a man under pressure. "Scan ahead. Bermuda has wicked defences, they probably have a net up."

004 would have preferred to argue, but he copied 009's movement and slid into his chair.

A warning beep from the dashboard confirmed what Spades had said.

"That's a net?" asked 009, studying the visual feedback.

"It looks more like a fence," 004 said.

"Then call it both," he snapped at them. 004 glared at him but Spades ignored it.

"We need to alter our trajectory, or we'll hit it," 004 said, "Five points north-north-west should do it -" he broke off as Spades accelerated more, the _Dolphin's_ engines beginning to whine from the strain.

Spades could see the panic begin to blossom on the faces of both cyborgs. He smiled wickedly. "We're not altering a damn thing," he said, sounding more like his old self. "The defences are good, sure. We're going to crash, you can bet on that. But you can bet your ass that they'll have aircraft scrambling right now. We go anywhere but straight ahead, we lose any chance of getting onto that damn island. Goes against my contract."

"You'll kill us!" 009 protested, lifting from his seat.

Spades snorted disparagingly, and tilted the Dolphin into a descent pattern. "Nah," he said, "Cyborgs are like cockroaches. Good at surviving."

**X X X**

Francoise woke with the disconcerting motion of slipping off her stool. She jerked up, found her feet and instinctively glanced to the clock. She must have fallen asleep, but only for ten minutes or so. What had woken her? She was alone in the room – a cautious glance out the door said she was _definitely_ alone – but something was different.

She closed her eyes and probed her surroundings. The Dolphin's engines were under stress, she realised – they'd accelerated. And above, on the flight deck – something was happening. With one hand on the door frame of the infirmary entrance, she glanced to Jet but he was still unconscious.

He'd be alright for a minute or two.

She stepped out into the narrow metal hallway and briskly made her way to the ladder. Scaling it easily – she'd done this for years – Francoise felt the lurch of a speed boost, and clung to the metal rungs tightly. It passed and she climbed the rest of the way quickly, and emerged on the upper deck. Through the cockpit windows she could see a distant island, though it was nearing at a frightening pace. She didn't recognise the base, but her internal system identified it as the Atlantic Headquarters for Black Ghost – an artificial island on the edge of the legendary Bermuda Triangle, and named after it.

"You'll kill us!"

Francoise blinked, and looked down. Spades was at the main controls, a cyborg either side. Eyes wide – who had allowed _him_ to fly? - she moved for the stairs. As her boot landed on the top most step she froze, senses honing in on infrastructure ahead.

Spikes – she could see them, arranged in a neat curve around the coast of the island. They were brimming with an electrical charge, with proximity beacons lining the shaft. They'd strike anything that came too close.

Snapping out of it, she hurried down the stairs. As the aircraft shifted downwards, the last few steps were taken in a stumble, but she made it to the front in time to hear Spades and his comment about cockroaches. Francoise scowled but said nothing to him, moving to Joe's side instead. She was still mad at him, but it wasn't important right then. "It's an electrical net," she said, and smiled to herself when Joe looked startled to see her.

"-003!"

"Damn right it's electrical," Spades said, and Francoise felt a stab of fear at his expression. It couldn't be human. "It's going to sting, too."

She realised, then, how _close_ the net was, how _fast_ they were going and they _weren't stopping_.

A flash of electricity arced towards them, a vivid blue that made it look like lightning. It struck the Dolphin and the voltage coursed through everything – Spades had a deathgrip on the controls and swore at the top of his voice but they still didn't stop – she was screaming but the others were yelling –

And the world was black.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	17. Scattered

**Four Aces**

**#16: Scattered**

**X X X**

The world was white.

Jet groaned and screwed his eyes shut to protect them from the glare. He slowly rubbed at them with one hand, his whole body sluggish and sore. He had no idea where he was – but he wasn't on the _Dolphin_ anymore. Jet's incessant cyborg programming had already produced a dozen calculations that made it probable that he was outdoors - the ground certainly _felt _hard enough. Rather than look and risk the possibility that this was all _real,_ Jet stubbornly kept his eyes closed and relied on his other senses. He could feel the sharp edge of a rock digging into his calf-muscle, and heat of the sun on his skin. Although his hearing was nothing like 003's, he could hear the distant sound of wind through trees, and smell the slight tang of salty, coastal air.

There was no data to tell him how he'd gotten off the ship, though. The last thing Jet remembered clearly was yelling at Spades and what was left of the team... 004 chastising him and 003 with a needle... _Oh_.

001. The unpleasant feeling of violation trickled down Jet's spine when he remembered that the kid had sedated him. He knew Ivan meant well, but Jet had _always_ insisted on control of his own body. To be put to sleep without warning was extremely uncomfortable, and not something that he cared to appreciate.

Where was the kid, anyway? ... For that matter, where was everyone _else_?

Suddenly aware that he couldn't hear or sense any of the team, Jet opened his eyes and sat up quickly. He winced when it pulled at the injury on his waist, instinctively pressing a hand to it while he breathed through gritted teeth. His sensors obeyed a subconscious order, dulling it enough to allow him to focus on other things – like figuring out what on earth was going on. The chattering of his internal system was starting to make his head hurt even more than it had, but he didn't need it to know that this was not a good situation. This was most definitely outside, and he was most definitely alone.

He was sitting on the apex of a ridge that stood well above sea-level, a small mountain rising behind him. Below, a thick forest canopy seemed to cover at least half of the island, grassland covering the rest. An aircraft runway ran parallel to the coast, surrounded by the concrete hubs that marked a Black Ghost operation. The _Dolphin_ was nowhere in sight... nor were any of his team mates.

Jet grimaced. He was back at square one – alone, with no team and no idea if any of them were okay. With a grunt he got to his feet, the idea of defeat never crossing his mind. Jet's determination had not wavered an ounce since 001 had come to him in New York – his team was in danger and he was _going _to save them.

Walking towards the edge of the ridge, Jet took a moment to tap his heels together. He was pleased to find that someone had refuelled him during his time-out in the infirmary, and repaired some of the damaged nerve-endings that had gone haywire after his flight to Morocco. He wasn't exactly fighting fit, but headache and bruising aside... it was good enough.

Jet paused with one foot on the very precipice of the ridge, fists clenched loosely at his sides. "It'd be real nice," he said, even though he didn't really think there was anyone 'up there' to listen, "If everything went right for a change."

**X X X**

She sat on a stump that wasn't any more comfortable than that stool in the infirmary, with a nervous eye on the prone form next to her. He was sprawled on the grass, face up but unconscious. His black and white uniform was stained with dirt and twigs, a by-product of her effort to drag him into the tree canopy where they wouldn't be visible to satellites.

She might have preferred to just leave him out in the open for Black Ghost to see, but Francoise was not the type of person to listen to such temptation. For better or for worse, he was part of the team.. even if it was just for a little while. She would always help her team.

The assassin came to with a soft groan, startling her. After a moment it turned into a soft laugh, which failed to subside even as he rolled onto his side and sat up. "That was fun," Spades said, oblivious to the frown that Francoise was giving him. "I can't believe we survived... oh, that team of yours has some tricks, doesn't it?"

He kept on laughing, dusting off his uniform and getting to his feet. Running through some twists and stretches, Francoise hazarded a guess that he was sizing up his condition. She stayed silent, deeply annoyed by his cavalier response to what had happened.

"So," Spades said, hands on his hips. He surveyed the trees that surrounded them, either ignorant or uncaring of her attitude. "Where are we?"

"We're on the island," she said coolly, "We crashed." It was _his _fault actually, but Francoise waited for Spades to realise that on his own.

"I can see that," he said, with a gesture to the trees. "_Where_ are we?"

Francoise held back her reluctance to answer. A stalemate at this point would be no good – she didn't like him, but she needed him to find the others. There was safety in numbers... or so the saying went. "We're south-west of the main base, about five and a half kilometres inland," she said, but left it at that.

He grinned. "Pretty useful, for an Archaic."

"Stop calling us that," Francoise demanded, "We might be older than you but we're _people. _We have lives, feelings – loved ones. We're not old, outdated things that you can hunt and discard at your leisure!"

"You're machines," Spades said flatly, "Just like me, just every other Cyborg that Black Ghost has created."

Francoise could feel tears prick at the corner of her eyes. Standing, she put her fears to the side, held her chin high and looked him in the eye. "We are _nothing _like you," she said fiercely, determined to prove him wrong. She just had to make him _see_, get him to _understand – _they were different. Her team – her _family_ – it was something that Black Ghost made, but they'd used their free will to do so much more than what the Merchant had ever intended.

Spades didn't back down, his black eyes glittering with an emotion she couldn't name. "You're outdated. Obsolete. _People _don't become obsolete. Now come on – I've got a job to do."

He turned away and stalked through the trees, obviously expecting that she follow.

Francoise didn't want to go with him. The more Spades talked to her, the more Francoise could see how ruined his moral code was... how he looked at them. Obsolete, outdated. Archaic. There was so much _hate_ in those words – he couldn't even see that he was wrong.

Even if he was the only one from the team right then, Spades was definitely someone that she didn't want to be around, not ever. Bracing herself, Francoise held onto her resolve and walked after him.

If she wanted to find or rescue her family, she didn't have a choice.

**X X X**

One minute, he'd been aboard the _Dolphin,_ seated at the console and braced for impact as they hurtled towards a Black Ghost defence. The next, the worldwas black and for a horrifying moment, he couldn't breathe.

There was a hard jolt and all of a sudden he was _falling. _Joe lashed out, trying to find something to hold onto as he hurtled through space but there was nothing to save himself with. Terrified, he forced his eyes open. Wind whistled past him as he tumbled through the air, the ground and sky blurred together. The tops of trees raced by as he fell towards the ground – there was a flash of light somewhere to the left and then he hit water, hard.

It rushed at him from all sides, icy and paralysing, and Joe fought to keep a clear head. He knew he could breathe underwater and forced himself to stay calm even as his cyborg parts dragged him down much faster than a normal human. Instinct set in and he kicked out, swimming upwards until he crested the surface of the water with a splash. He gasped for breath by reflex, even though he'd been fine – there were some parts of him that would always be human.

Teeth chattering and head ringing from the impact, Joe looked for the nearest shoreline. The thin sliver of sand beckoned him from a distance and he swam towards it without another thought, thankful that there was no current to pull him away.

It was then that something else splashed to the surface, silver but some distance away.

It took Joe a moment to realise what it was. "_004_!" Immediately, he changed directions in favour of the older man, glad that he wasn't alone.

004 was struggling to stay afloat, but he managed to turn towards Joe and wave an arm in the air. "009! Stay back!" he yelled. "It's not safe!"

Alarmed, Joe hesitated. He had every intention of helping his comrade – but where was the danger?

Something brushed his leg under the water. Joe's heart skipped a beat, but before he could react, something _else_ grabbed him by the waist, and pulled him under.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**

**X X X**

_Hey look, it's alive! If you're still here and still reading, thankyou. It means a lot. _


	18. Consequences

**Four Aces**

**#17: Consequences**

**X X X**

"Ready to get out of this place?"

Pyunma couldn't help his grin at the look of shock on 005 and 006's faces, relieved to see that both of them were unharmed and fighting fit.

"007 – 008! You're okay!" 006 sounded as relieved as Pyunma felt, with 006's terror dissipating in the company of his allies.

It was then that an alarm began to wail in the distance, efficiently cutting their reunion short. Red lights flashed overhead and the sound of metal on stone echoed down the hall as every cell, occupied or not, was

Pyunma turned on his heels, well aware that their time was limited. "Let's go," he commanded, and set off at a run without waiting for the rest of the team. The other three were quick to fall in behind him and together, they ran for the heavy duty security door there at the end of the hall.

005 was the first to reach it. With those great dinnerplate hands he gripped the keypad on the handle and effortlessly tore it off, exposing a number of wires that sparked and fizzled before shorting out completely. Taking the handle proper 005 forced it open, almost pulling the door off its hinges. The rest of the 00's kept to the side and out of his way, giving the giant the space he needed to manoeuvre.

With the door out of the way there was a split second where Pyunma could see the room beyond, and the company of soldiers on the other side. He saw guns and ducked for cover instinctively, right as they opened fire.

Crouching behind a foundation pillar with his comrades, Pyunma was glad of at least one thing - these were simple robot drones, more sophisticated than ones they had encountered in the past, but expendable all the same. The ammunition was making short work of the pillar but bounced off their red uniforms harmlessly, which meant that the robots were carrying standard issue weaponry – something that wouldn't affect a cyborg.

"006!" Pyunma gestured to the robots but pain lanced through his hand, stopping him short. "It's your turn!" he finished, cradling his arm against his chest.

"That's me!" the Chinese man answered, bounding to the front line. He drew in a large breath and took a step back, unleashing a barrage of flame. Under his control it roasted the enemy and anything else that might have been in the room with them. He didn't let up until the last of the robots clattered to the ground, burnt to a crisp. Pyunma watched from the corner of his eye, tearing at his uniform to make a quick field bandage. 006 puffed one last bit of flame and turned to face his comrades proudly. "Robot _a la_ 006!"

Pyunma smiled, tying off a knot with his teeth. "Good work friend," he said, and stood up. He couldn't help but move a little awkwardly, hand kept aloft from his body so that he wouldn't bump it accidentally.

"Were you shot?" 005 asked, noticing the injury.

Pyunma glanced to the field bandage that was wrapped around his left hand, the bright red material already stained with oil. He'd used part of his uniform sleeve, but he wasn't sure how good it would be at stopping the bleed. "No," he answered, "I used a pin from my hand to pick the lock on my cell door." He wiggled his hand experimentally, but the last two fingers didn't move. If they survived any of this, repairing that was going to be a problem.

"008!" 006's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Didn't that _hurt_?"

"There wasn't any other option. I'll be okay," Pyunma told him, brushing off the concern. Their backs were against the wall – there wasn't time to worry about small injuries if the trade-off was an escape from this place. He took the lead as they walked through the burnt out room, ignoring the row of security and surveillance consoles that lined one wall. Thanks to 006 they were damaged beyond repair, no more than melted lumps of plastic and twisted metal. The group moved quickly, not one of them willing to stop and examine the robotic remains – if nothing else, it was an uncomfortable reminder that their own bodies were not so different. If Black Ghost won, there was a very real possibility that they'd share a similar fate to these droids.

"Has anyone heard anything from the others?" Pyunma asked, breaking the silence in the most pragmatic way he could.

"The others weren't in any of the cells near us," 007 said as they came into another long hallway. There were doors along both walls, numbers stenciled on them but no indication of what they were for. "So Black Ghost might not have them yet."

"They could be anywhere," 005 said.

Pyunma grimaced. He didn't fancy the idea of trying to find the rest of the team when they'd be working harder than ever to stay off the radar.

"We should look for them," 007 said. "It won't be easy of course. They might even be heading here."

"Right," Pyunma said with a short nod, scanning the hall. He didn't like this – they knew nothing about what base this might be, what the layout was like, or if they were underground. They needed information... among other things. "But first, we need weapons and an idea of where we are."

"So how do we do that?" 006 asked.

"Perhaps we should split up," 007 said, looking thoughtful.

Pyunma shook his head immediately. "No," he said, "It's better if we stick together. Finding each other again would be too hard, and those assassins are still out there."

"There's safety in numbers!" 006 agreed.

"We are not the only ones who think that," 005 said, looking down the hall. A couple of the doors had opened and now dozens of robot soldiers were swarming the narrow space, undoubtedly coming for them.

Pyunma stared, working through the team's options in rapid fire. Going back was a dead end. The only way out was forward, either through the soldiers or through a door that could lead anywhere. 006 could _probably _get rid of about half of the enemy but that would exhaust his supply and the rest of the team was weaponless. They needed 006 in reserve.

He was interrupted by the opening of yet more doors, even more soldiers pouring into the hall.

They were out of time.

Gritting his teeth, Pyunma pointed to the nearest door. "That way!" he said, and broke into a sprint. The others stumbled after him, unprepared but quick to respond. By the grace of the Gods it was unlocked and Pyunma held it open for his comrades. He didn't know what was on the other side, but it couldn't be any worse than facing execution.

006 brought up the rear, short legs working furiously to carry him ahead of the attack as the soldiers opened fire. Once he was through Pyunma followed as fast as he could, yanking the door shut a moment before bullets peppered the space where he'd been standing.

**X X X**

He hit the water so hard that he almost blacked out. Grimly hanging onto his consciousness, 004 twisted over to try and right himself. It wasn't much good - he sank quickly, fresh water pouring into his mouth and nose. With a reasonable idea of which way was up, he kicked out and pushed himself towards the surface. What was going on? Had they crashed?

A shadow moved in the corner of his eye and an unearthly groan rippled through the water, bringing to mind the singing whale pods that the _Dolphin _had sometimes come across. 004's mind switched into overdrive as he looked to it, and found himself in the range of a metal leviathan.

_My God..._

Easily twice the size of the _Dolphin_ it was resting on the silty bottom of the lake, great lantern-like eyes fixed on him. 004's stomach bottomed out and he redoubled his efforts to swim upwards as fast as he could, skin prickling with fear. He broke the surface with a splash and gulped in air, grey eyes looking for the shoreline. Could he escape?

-had someone called his name?

Turning in the water, 004 spotted the brown hair and red uniform of a friend. "009!" he waved with what little energy he could spare. With his body, it was hard to stay afloat. "Stay back, it's not safe!"

To 004's relief the younger cyborg listened – even if Albert doubted that it would do any good. The beast was big enough to reach both of them without even _trying_. He racked his brain for a solution – there was no sign of anyone else. They were on their own... they'd have to try and swim for the shore.

Before he could shout anything to 009, there was a splash and 009 had disappeared from view. 004 had all of three seconds to register that it was the work of the leviathan – by the fourth, something had snagged him by the ankle and with alarming strength, dragged him down as well.

004 barely had time to hold his breath, forcing his eyes to stay open as he was brought underwater. A long tentacle, probably made of a high quality alloy, had wrapped itself around his leg and was reeling him in towards the great mass that constituted a body. Holding back the urge to panic, 004 struggled against the tight grip but had no success.

Plan B, then. He pulled the glove off his metal hand and did his best to aim at the point where tentacle met body. He knew that the water would mess with his shot but fired anyway – the blast spiralled through the water and deflected off the monster's armoured back, way off the mark and not even leaving a scratch.

_Damnit._

Abandoning that strategy in favour of plan C, Albert bent over, hands going to the leg that the leviathan had a hold on. He desperately tried to shift the metal monster's grip, pulling and shoving as best that he could. He didn't need to be free, he just needed enough of his leg to crack open the launch tube within. It was getting harder to think straight, harder to move – he knew he was running out of air and panic was starting to overwhelm his common sense. He tried firing at the tentacle with his pistol hand, hoping the close proximity would help his cause, but it was just as useless as everything else he'd done. Frightened that he was going to drown any minute now, Albert fought as hard as he could – but blackness was creeping at the edge of his vision and all too soon, consciousness was floating away.

His hands slipped away from his leg and the leviathan's grip on it, head rolling back as his eyes closed. Body limp, Albert drifted down through the water at the mercy of his enemy.

**X X X**

The last thing Queen remembered seeing clearly was the Dolphin soaring through the air at a suicidal speed, racing to meet the island's defences head on. She remembered the flash of blue as the net reacted to the intrusion but then every screen had filled with a blinding white light, so strong that everyone in the room had to shield themselves. She didn't know how long it had lasted, only that it ended when the camera feed was lost.

Now the room was in absolute chaos with static on every screen, and she felt quite ready to punch something.

The half-cyborg woman stood at her console, chair discarded behind her. Arms on her waist she watched the room with a heavy scowl, observing as supervisors barked their orders and subordinates hastened to obey. Everyone was working at triple speed to fix the very big problem they now had, but it wasn't good enough. "Get me the damn camera feed!" Queen commanded, the hard edge in her voice superseding the need to shout. She broke her concentration long enough to rub at her eyes with her natural hand, trying to abate the fierce stinging caused by the white light.

She felt movement on her left side as Diamonds stepped up from behind. "What did I tell you?" he asked, apparently quite satisfied with the outcome of their defensive manoeuvre. "Spades has always been shady. He's not as sneaky as he thinks he is."

"Neither are you," Queen snapped, her patience for the assassin well and truly spent.

"Camera Sigma is online, ma'am!" someone shouted from the front of the room.

Queen snapped to attention, honing in on the feed.

Although a little crackly, the image was clear – the line of poles were still in place, towering above the calm sea. There was no sign of the _Dolphin_, and certainly no sign of the 00 cyborgs._._

"What the hell –?" Diamonds murmured, leaning forward a little. "Where's the _debris_?"

Her eyes wide, Queen stared in disbelief at the scene. They couldn't have gotten _through_ the net, and she'd seen it strike the ship! It should have been in a thousand pieces by now, strewn across the water and some of the shore, smouldering and no longer any kind of threat at all. Instead... nothing. _Not one thing._

"That's not possible," she murmured, "It's not _possible._ Their ship is ten years old! Black Ghost's defenses are _superior_!" Infuriated, Queen slammed her fists on the console. "Find the ship!" she ordered, an edge of panic in her words. They had to find that stupid vehicle, and it had to be now. The Black Ghost was not going to enjoy hearing that they'd lost the last five cyborgs _and _one of his assassins, traitor though Spades may have been. If they didn't find them, she would be held responsible. A shiver crept down her neck at the thought.

"Good luck," Diamonds said flatly. "You won't find it."

Twisting around, Queen balled one of her fists. She really _would _punch him if he stayed here much longer. "Help or get out," she growled.

Diamonds had the gall to look offended at this response. "Not even a thanks for my part against that traitor?"

"Out!"

Diamonds mock saluted her and took his leave with an irritating jaunt in his step. Queen watched him go with a fierce glare. Once he was gone she whipped around, hand lashing out as she pointed to the camera feeds. "Find me that ship!"

She would_ not _fail.

**X X X**

Diamonds strode down the hall towards the armoury, ignoring everyone he passed but making no attempt to get out of anyone's way. They side-stepped around him instead, no matter their rank or function in the Black Ghost hive. Diamonds was not a person anyone wanted to bump into.

Spades _betrayed_ them. He was struggling to find the sense in his fellow assassin's actions, for although Diamonds had no love for Spades... he knew that the other was very good at his job. Working for Black Ghost was a good gig. Granted, there was the constant threat of being decommissioned that hung over every assassin's head, but after a while Diamonds had learnt to ignore that. The pay was good, and they were on a pretty long leash. The Black Ghost didn't really care where they went, so long as they appeared for every mission briefing, did their job, and didn't draw unwanted attention to the Organisation.

He just didn't see what the benefits were. Spades was throwing away too many good things, in favour of _what?_ Saving lives? Diamonds snorted as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Someone with a perfect kill rate wouldn't care about that. Spades was in it for the money, and the money only.

Perhaps the 00's were paying him... plausible, he decided, but the fee for saving all nine of them couldn't possibly match Black Ghost's fee for _killing_ all nine of them.

He stopped a few steps from the armoury door. Wait. Diamonds drew in a slow breath, eyes widening as the answer hit him. Of course. _Of bloody course! _ A sick, second-hand glee filled him as he realised what Spades was doing. Those stupid 00's would never see it coming and the opportunity was ripe for Diamonds to take full advantage of it. With just two of them left, it was definitely his turn to be top dog.

His hand on the keypad to the door, Diamonds snickered. He was going to blindside Spades. Him! The assassin laughed again, daring to be louder than before. He'd wipe that stupid smirk off of Spades' face _permanently._

As he stepped over the threshold of the armoury, the assassin's reverie was cut short by the uncomfortable motion of the ground rippling beneath his feet. He grabbed at a shelf for balance, skin prickling. What was –

The building shook again and Diamonds flattened himself to the wall. As it passed he heard the first sound of explosions from above and below, too far to be deafening but loud all the same. He grabbed the nearest weapon he could and bolted for the door, grin returning to his face. The 00s were here.

**X X X**

**To be continued. **


End file.
